


the brightest hour

by murakamism



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Poetry as Foreplay, Romantic Poetry, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 82,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakamism/pseuds/murakamism
Summary: There can be worse things, Rey supposes, than being stuck in this English Romantic Poetry class. Professor Ren—or if you prefer, Professor Byron—is dark, moody, and mysterious. But they run into each other constantly, blessed by fate or sheer luck, and she can no longer deny that there's something inside of both of them that only the other can understand.Or: Romantic poetry and conversations over black coffee. Dark and light, parchment and leather, push and pull. A companionship borne through snippets. And eventually: how to face the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Thank you to Sand for helping me plan this fic! I'm not a Romantic Poetry gal, so I really needed to do my research for this.  
> 2\. I am also _not_ a slowburn author, so I don't know if this will be slow or not. But definitely, they'll develop a friendship first! I can already tell this is going to be a little long so... please hang on with me.  
>  3\. Everything about Professor Ren (and this AU) is pure self-indulgence and I think this will be entirely evident. I made him a bit softer than Kylo really is in canon~

_The fountains mingle with the river_

_And the rivers with the ocean,_

_The winds of heaven mix for ever_

_With a sweet emotion;_

_Nothing in the world is single;_

_All things by a law divine_

_In one spirit meet and mingle._

_Why not I with thine?_

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Love’s Philosophy”

 

 

His voice drones on, a smooth melody filtering into her ears. Soft and low, composed, each word carefully balanced on his tongue. The room is quiet and still, each breath suspended in the air—as frozen in time as the dust mites dancing by the window, glowing in the sunlight.

A small breeze blows in, tickling the edge of her jaw. Her ear catches the crinkle of pages turning in the wind, as well as the student’s subsequent attempt to close their notebook. Rey jolts forward, her eyes blinking wide open. The dim room fills her vision—as well as five front rows of students giving various levels of attention.

She sits up straighter, wipes her mouth with the back of a hand just in case she’d drooled a little. Professor Ren barely even spares her a glance, instead absorbed in reading a passage out loud, his figure stiff and dignified at the front of the room.

“And the sunlight clasps the earth   
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:   
What is all this sweet work worth   
   If thou kiss not me?”

Rey turns her head to the seat beside her and catches Rose staring at their professor intently, her chin balanced on a hand. Upon feeling the other girl’s gaze, Rose turns to Rey and smiles at her, mouths _“good morning”_. Rey huffs but returns her grin.

“Before we begin,” Professor Ren says, finally looking up at the class. His glasses glint in the sunlight, and Rey squirms, wondering how many more minutes of class there are left. “Would anyone like to tell us what they think of this poem?”

Rey glances down at her copy, deliberately missing eye contact and hoping she won’t be called. She curls the top edge of the paper with two fingers, thoughts brewing in her head about how she didn’t like it, not at all. All this flowery romance, these sappy love poems—she huffs at them all.

Some other girl must have raised her hand, because she hears a voice start speaking. It’s that one girl—not really a teacher’s _pet_ ; more like a flirt—who sits in front.

“I thought it was so _romantic,_ ” she says, her voice loud in the room. “If a man ever asked me out with that poem, I would swoon.”

She finishes with a giant grin. Professor Ren pushes up his glasses with a sigh, clearly preparing himself to ask the next question. Rey blinks sleepily.

“Yes, well, what exactly about it did you find romantic? Maybe a line… or a theme?”

“The theme is about how beautiful nature is, right? Nature is beautiful and everything comes in pairs, so she should hurry up and kiss him too.”

Professor Ren doesn’t even nod. He just hums once, eyes flittering away before seamlessly weaving in the girl’s answer as an introduction to the actual start of his module, speaking of unity and connection and all sorts of things that Rey only half-heartedly notes down.

There isn’t much in her that connects to poetry. Rey wishes she could spend these hours catching another shift instead, or maybe studying for her engineering major, but instead she’s sitting in a room and dozing off to nineteenth century English poetry. The only bright side to taking this elective is Rose, but well, Rose had convinced her to take it in the first place.

“Just as the rivers mix with the ocean, or the winds blend up in heaven,” Professor Ren continues, eyes flittering between students, barely stopping by to really look. “The speaker believes that human beings should be together wholly, in both _body and soul_.”

He tugs at the cuffs of his navy blue button-up before picking up a marker that looks tiny in his hands, and then writes on the whiteboard in neat, cursive penmanship: _In one spirit meet and mingle, why not I with thine?_

“Just as mountains and waves must follow the laws of nature, so do humans. But with our free will, _must_ is not _always will_ , and in the end this belief is nothing but a _lover’s philosophy_ ,” he taps the title once with the end of his marker. “That is yet to be realized.”

“In the end,” Professor Ren’s voice is deep and low, and Rey leans forward to hear him better. She stops scribbling with her pen. “This poem is but an argument from a man to his love, his not yet lover. He ends each stanza with an unanswered question: _Why not I with thine? If thou kiss not me?_ Deeply emotional, _yearning_ —“

For a moment, Rey’s gaze meets his. Professor Ren’s eyes are dark behind his glasses—dark and shining with a strange emotion. But no, his gaze isn’t lost to the distance, isn’t lost in some memory. He stares at her intently, gaze piercing hers for that one endless second. And then he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and looks away, blinking at something else Rey can’t see. The sunlight traces the curves of his hair, makes him glow with an ethereal brightness.

Rey pauses, wondering if she had seen something she wasn’t supposed to.

_A woman had once told her that she’d seen the same eyes in different people. And Rey knows what her face looks like, knows the same deepness in her eyes when she looks in the mirror sometimes—when she’d patter into her dim bathroom, late at night after another dream of being abandoned._

Rey looks down, gripping her pen tight.

“And yet, despite the light, beautiful imagery,” Professor Ren says. “The man’s true feelings and situation are subtly revealed. Along with his questions, another line pops up strangely. It contrasts against the natural flow and unity in the rest of the poem. _‘No sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother’._ What do you think that means, given the light of the rest of the verses?” He glances upwards, eyes scanning the room. Rey bites her lip when his eyes lock onto hers. “Miss Kenobi?”

Rey sees Rose glance at her from the side of her vision. She swallows. Everyone is silent, but it’s not as bad as the intensity of Professor Ren’s gaze—his head is still tilted in a question.

“What’s your interpretation?” he repeats, voice still sharp but words slightly less hostile. Rey shrugs, swallows, bumbles out an “um” before she can gather her words.

“Uh, I think… I think that given he has to ask her to be with him and kiss him, it means that she might _disdain_ him just as the flower does.” Rey looks at him directly, and Professor Ren neither smiles nor frowns. Just stays silent, waiting and listening. “If this poem is a philosophy, an argument to make her love the writer… then maybe she rejected him already once before. And he won’t give up.”

Ever so slightly, the edges of Professor Ren’s lips quirk up into the shadow of a smile.

“Excellent reading,” he replies, before turning away. “Exactly what I was getting at. We should remember that romantic poetry isn’t always what it seems…”

Rose nudges her gently, as if to say _“way to go!”_ Rey tries to smile, but her lips quiver into a half-grimace. Strangely enough, her heart pounds in her chest, and she hopes that the warmth blooming through her neck isn’t her skin growing red. Rey does not usually get nervous, and yet, and yet—

She hunches forward and rubs the back of her neck, willing her heart to slow down. Professor Ren doesn’t glance at her for the rest of the period, and by the time it’s time to go she spares him a gaze. He only looks down, tidying up neatly, refusing to look at anyone else.

 

 

“So how are you surviving?” Finn asks, sliding next to Rey to fish out one of her fries. She smacks his hand and he laughs, dropping the piece. “Okay, okay, sorry, I just wanted to try one. You can have some of mine too.”

He slides his lunch closer to her elbow. Rey smiles and shakes her head, waving him off.

“Surviving what?” she then asks, shoving a mouthful of fries into her mouth. She blinks at how salty they are, and then rips a packet of ketchup open to generously dribble it all over what’s left on her plate. Rose finally sits down across them, a bowl of noodles in her hands.

“You know, the terror. Professor Byron,” Finn replies, automatically backing off at her mess of a ketchup-stained plate. Rey chuckles, and then pokes at her double cheeseburger. She’d been waiting all day to finally eat lunch, and today’s burger promo is _glorious_.

Rey replies while chewing, and it comes out sounding more like a “Ngoo?”

“Ohh, that’s what the other students call Professor Ren,” Rose replies. She speaks _after_ chewing and swallowing, but Rey doesn’t care. She blinks and looks up, chewing as she listens.

“I don’t understand why you’d _want_ to take him, Rose,” Finn continues. He shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth and then frowns. “I mean, you’re really smart, so I know you’d pass his class. It’s just that he’s… known to be an ass.”

“He hasn’t been an ass so far,” Rose huffs. “I think most people like to exaggerate.”

“He made three students cry last semester. _Three_. And have you seen the comments he leaves on people’s essays? Absolutely brutal.”

“How do you know that?”

“Some upload them online. Anonymously. Wait, let me try to find some—“

Rey takes a large gulp of water. She’s inhaled half of her meal already, and she curiously leans towards Finn as he shows both girls the screen of his phone. He taps an image to enlarge it, and on the screen is familiar handwriting—a beautiful cursive scrawl in blood red ink.

_“Parroting back verses does not make an analysis. This is a university course, not a third-grade book report.”_

_“You may be unaware that your word processor has a spell check function. Learn how to use it.”_

_“Did you even attempt to analyze?”_

_“Deserves less than F.”_

Rey coughs out her drink.

Finn pats her back. She finishes the rest of her water while Rose concernedly looks on, pushing her own glass of water towards her. Rey shakes her head, her coughs abating as she leans forward, gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Rose asks, reaching out for her. Rey nods and then clears her throat, wipes away the moisture from her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. That was just… unexpected.”

“He likes your answers so far. I don’t think he’ll ever be that cruel to you.”

“I wasn’t afraid of that,” Rey replies, laughing. “I thought it was funny. Pretty brutal, but funny.”

Finn pats her shoulder. “I guess. I’m just surprised neither of you have complained about him yet.”

“Oh, god, if I have _one_ complaint,” Rey begins, picking up her last fry. “It’s that his voice puts me right to sleep.”

What she means is—he isn’t _boring_ per se. It’s just that his voice is low and soothing, always at a gentle lilt. She could listen to him speak for hours and hours, but that’s a strange thing to say. She’s paying too much money to fall asleep in class, dammit.

“Really?” Finn’s brows rise up. “He hasn’t yelled in class yet?”

“Well… not _in_ class,” Rose interjects.

“What do you mean by that, Rose?” Rey asks her, brows scrunched up in a question. She plops the last fry into her mouth and chews carefully, hoping not to repeat her last accident. Choking in the school cafeteria is a sad way to go.

“I saw him arguing with another professor once, that’s all,” Rose clarifies. She pushes away her half-empty bowl. “They were both in the English Department. Professor Ren and Professor Hux, I think? Tall and ginger.”

Rey and Finn both grimace.

“Ugh, I’ve heard horrible things about _that_ guy,” Rey murmurs. She wrinkles her nose. “And I’ve _seen_ him talk to students, so I have experience to back it up. But I guess we’re lucky with Ren. Maybe he’s mellowed out a bit.”

“These comments are from one semester ago,” Finn reminds her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rey replies. She sticks her tongue out at him. “Let us dream for a while longer, Finn.”

He only grins at her, wide and cheery.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

 

 

The wind chills her to the bone, and Rey tugs her jacket tighter around herself as she strides to her classroom. Her boots pound against the floors, and she winces as she peeks into the tiny glass window on the closed doors. She isn’t _too_ late. Not yet.

The back door creaks too noisily for her taste. Just as she shuffles inside, noting that only about half of the class is there, a familiar deep voice booms from the front. She freezes in place.

“Nice of you to join us today, Miss Kenobi.”

When she turns her head, she meets Professor Ren’s disapproving gaze. His glasses slide down his nose and his brows are pinched, and she sees that he’s already halfway through some spiel.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She slowly approaches her seat and grimaces when Rose tugs at her sleeve, helping her put away her bag without making a noise.

“Some would say better late than never,” Professor Ren continues. He doesn’t look at her, but Rey feels her face start to burn up. “If half of you could make it to class today, I don’t see why the other half _couldn’t_.”

His face darkens, that expression just as black as his hair, just as black as his turtleneck. The top is form-fitting, but the way the neck wraps around his throat, cloth contrasting sharply against the pale whiteness of his clenched jaw—Rey hates herself for even _noticing_ it.

Professor Ren is a large man, but even he’s not immune to the sudden cold. Rey imagines that her classmates aren’t here for the same reason that she was late: everyone would rather stay in bed than attend another lecture on poems speaking of a woman’s beauty.

(She knows. She read this week’s collection last night, but all the words blurred together—all this garbage about beautiful, dark hair and mysterious smiles and a pure heart; she didn’t see why she had to spend an hour today for _that_ )

And maybe it’s the cold getting everyone on edge. She sits with her chin propped against her palm, the words running through one ear and out another. Professor Ren’s voice drones on in the background, his speech barely registering in Rey’s brain. She hears something about rhyme and meter, some technicalities of poetry—but in the end she watches him more for want of a place to rest her eyes on rather than anything else.

She can _see_ it, she thinks. Professor Ren with his dark hair and sombre mood, with his black shirts and his long coats… The only times when his eyes glint with life are when he’s reading out a verse or discussing poetry—only then does his gaze soften, and only then does he dare sweep his eyes across the room in a way that makes Rey feels like he really _looks_. His voice is deep and low, and she watches the shape of his throat vibrate with his words.

After class, he rarely stays. And if he does, he glares hard enough at his belongings that it deters most people from asking him questions. Always, always he rushes out of the room with his coattails swishing behind him—like a blur of clouds, his feet moving too fast for anyone to catch him.

He really is a Professor Byron. She hides a smile behind her fingers.

He doesn’t ask anyone questions today, thankfully. The hour whirrs by agonizingly slowly, and yet she only realizes that class is over when the boy sitting in front of her darts out of the room, backpack half-slung over one shoulder. She blinks and sits back, watches Rose slide her notebook into her bag.

When Rose finishes, she looks up and smiles at her.

“Finn said he’d be free today. Wanna join us for a drink?” she asks, slinging her bag over her shoulders. Rey sighs, and then they stand up together at the same time.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Professor Ren speeding out of the room, his coattails flying in the breeze. The door swings open and then back closed—into nothingness. _Whoosh._

“I’d love to, but I picked up a co-worker’s shift today,” Rey explains. “I’m heading there now.”

“That’s all right,” Rose says. She side-steps Rey’s boot. “See you tomorrow?”

A nod. “See you tomorrow!”

As soon as Rose exits the room, Rey sighs, shoulders slumping. She’s exhausted, really, tired and sleepy and still stressed from yesterday’s late night study session. She walks out of the classroom and navigates the hallways on autopilot, mind wandering as she steps out of the building and into the cool, autumn air.

The campus is awash in a breeze, and she stubbornly meets it head on. A couple passes her—each one laughing as their arms are linked—and she huffs, avoiding their slow pace. She power walks through a stone pathway, a smattering of dead leaves crunching underneath her boots. The café she works in is at the other back end of campus, tucked away and facing a quiet street.

She makes it in record time. Rey huffs, entering through the service door. Her co-workers greet her as she comes in, their hands pre-occupied with the latest shipment of beans.

“Morning, Rey.”

“Morning.”

She clocks in, dumps her bag into the back room and then ties their official apron around her waist snugly. It’s black and stiff, and she doesn’t bother to adjust it, instead retying her hair into a bun. She breathes in, exhales, prepares herself to offer a smile when she heads to the counter.

Still, it’s a quiet place, and she appreciates that. They serve (supposedly) good coffee, _expensive_ coffee (though that’s by her standards; maybe others would disagree), and even if she doesn’t care much for brewing she’s good at working.

Today’s shift would give her some nice, extra cash too.

Rey sighs, heading towards the register. It’s a small enough place that there are only two of them behind the counter today: one at the register and by the pastry box and another one filling out drink orders. She taps her fingers against the granite countertop as she peeks at the café, noting that there are more customers than usual right now.

But more than usual isn’t yet full, and most of them are quiet anyway—either talking quietly amongst themselves or having their faces buried in a laptop screen or a book.

Well, good for her.

The afternoon shift is always more peaceful.

She sells a latte, some pastries, a really complicated drink. She takes orders with a cheery smile, her voice ringing loud and clear.

“Welcome to Scavengers, may I take your order…?”

She looks up from the register and blinks, her words trailing off of her lips. Professor Ren stands in front of her, his own eyes wide. They stand there—quiet and still—for a few seconds, and then Professor Ren clears his throat and swallows, his voice even deeper up close.

“One brewed coffee, please,” he murmurs. His eyes dart away from hers and onto the pastry box. He shifts on his feet. “And two bagels. For dining in.”

“R-right,” Rey replies. “One brewed coffee,” she calls out, though her voice wavers. Only slightly.

She grabs two bagels from the box and patters to the nearby oven to heat them up. She’s glad to have her back to him, and he only silently waits by the side. The bagels seem to take _forever_ to heat up, and for once she curses the lack of a line.

“I didn’t know you worked here, Miss Kenobi,” he says. She turns her head towards him and smiles, one shoulder shrugging. She never realized how ridiculously tall he was until he stood so close—and he isn’t _just_ tall; he’s broad too. He tugs at his turtleneck with insistent fingers, and she catches the shiny watch on his muscular wrist.

But he’s got coat under his arm and his satchel over his shoulder—the bag is brown leather, aged but expensive, and almost bursting with papers. Her eyes flit back to his, and she feels her cheeks warm at being caught staring.

“Well, I do,” she replies. “Not usually at this time, though. I was just covering for a friend’s shift.”

“Oh.”

He hums once. Rey nods and then grips the edge of the counter again, realizing that her hands have _nothing_ to do. They’re just hanging  there by her sides. Isn’t that weird? Is it?

Where’s his kriffing coffee?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “The pastries are all usually freshly baked, but that’s in the morning, you know, and it’s already kinda late—“

He holds up a hand. “No, no, I understand. Don’t worry.” And then he shakes his head, and Rey is afraid that he’ll scowl at her for blabbing her head off. Instead he shrugs one shoulder. “Please. I’m just another customer. I promise.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t, sir—“

The microwave dings by her elbow. Rey’s mouth falls open mid-sentence, and then she drops the rest of her words and spins to grab the pastries. She fishes them out with a pair of tongs and tries her hardest _not_ to drop them as she transfers them onto a white, porcelain plate.

When she turns back to present them she _swears_ that there’s an amused smirk on his face, but Professor Ren’s lips press together tightly and she isn’t sure _what_ he’s thinking anymore.

“Brewed coffee,” her co-worker calls out. He slides the cup on the counter and then walks away, leaving Rey to stack them onto a tray.

“Enjoy your meal,” she says, even if she _never_ says that at this coffee shop. Professor Ren quirks up a smile, a tiny of curl of his lips, and meets her eyes for another brief second.

“I will, thank you. Have a pleasant day, Miss Kenobi.”

He takes his tray and turns around, quick enough that Rey is left silent behind him. Her mind runs a mile a minute wondering what she should say… so she ends up saying nothing at all. She only stares at his back, blinking, thinking about how annoying it is because nobody else gets her flustered.

Nobody.

She huffs.

“There’s a customer, Rey,” her co-worker calls out. She rushes to the register and takes the customer’s order, pasting that smile back on her face. All the while she stares past his shoulder—he’s too busy looking at his phone anyway—and watches Professor Ren take a seat at a far corner, away from the rest of the guests. He doesn’t glance up at her, doesn’t look at _anybody_ ; just opens his laptop and stares at the screen while taking a bite out of his bagel.

He squints, even behind his glasses. His eyes run over something onscreen, and then he grimaces. She wonders what exactly he’s reading. Is he grading papers? Is it an article? Some poetry? Even with his laptop, he brings out a leather-bound notebook and a pen. He twirls the pen between his fingers, and Rey finally looks away, admonishing herself.

_He’s just a customer. That’s all._

When the orders die down, Rey leans her elbow against the countertop and yawns. Her eyes flit over the café and its occupants, watches for their half-emptied drinks. She looks forward to nothing except getting home, ordering some take-out as a treat, and then going to bed, snug as a bug with an extra few blankets.

It’s not on purpose, she swears, when her eyes flit back to Professor Ren. He’s just more interesting to watch; that’s all. His brows are furrowed in serious concentration. He’s rolled up his sleeves; whether it’s because he feels warm or if it’s to avoid staining his shirt, or both, she doesn’t know. She can’t tell what he’s writing down from over here, but she can still make out the loops and curves of his distinctive handwriting—even with the jagged scribbles crossing out lines and lines, it still looks elegant.

And the way he purses his lips when he’s thinking… He’s caught up in his own world, cocooned away from the rest of them. A tall, dark figure in the corner of the café, surrounded by paper and ink, drinking coffee that’s just as black as his clothes.

It’s a bit of a cliché, but the smile that slips onto Rey’s face is fond—not snide. She doesn't even realize she's done it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initial awkwardness, chance encounters, and a peek into the eye of a raging storm.

The light bulb above her flickers.

Rey frowns, brows scrunched together and gaze intently set as she scans the books on the shelf. She traces each title with a finger, nails barely brushing the bound spines.

_English Romantic Poetry: An Anthology. Keats: The Myth of the Hero. In Byron’s Footsteps._

She pulls one out, flips through its pages, and then returns it. Does the same for another book beside it, and another, and another. The words on the pages all bleed together in her brain, a muddied mess of black ink whizzing by too fast to register. She snaps the book shut with a dull thud, and it rings out through the shelves. She sighs, lolls her head back with a groan.

“I can’t do this right now,” she mutters to herself.

She doesn’t even know _what_ to write about.

This section of the library is especially discouraging. It’s nestled in a distant corner of the room, furthest away from the windows where the light comes in. The shelves are cramped and narrow, and it’s even emptier than the mathematics and engineering shelves—she knows; she goes there regularly. Textbooks are expensive, _all right_.

And then, perhaps because she figures she might as well look some more before giving up and returning to her dorm empty-handed, she side-steps and scans the next shelf, the one closer to the aisles.

Most of the spines are brand new, some even hardbound and still glossy. She scans them with a half-hearted gaze, just hoping that a title will call out to her. She can’t judge a book by its cover, but she’ll _definitely_ judge it by its title.

 _American Romantics: New Heights_.

Well, that raises her brow.

Something about it convinces her to tap her finger on the book and pull it out of the shelf, watching as it dislodges smoothly. She weighs it in her hands and carefully flips it open, her finger sliding against the edges of the pages.

_Is this a poetry anthology or an eighties movie?_

But it _is_ a poetry anthology, and she flips through it again—only to stop and return to the table of contents, a familiar name catching her attention.

 _The Eye of a Raging Storm by Kylo Ren_.

Oh, she has to see this.

She turns to the right page. Twenty-four.

_At daybreak I wake to a deadened storm_  
_And a lull of clouds. I raise my palms,_  
_Desperate for a kiss of sunlight. These days_  
_Are for mourning to the tune of birdsong_

_Again and again and again, until they_  
_Grow hoarse. I would sing, if I could, but_  
_My lips are tinted with frost—the remains of_  
_The dark evening. A winter that dwells within_

_My chest keeps me company through the_  
_Changing of moons. Because even the_  
_Ghosts are silent, their lips pursed tight._  
_They demand something I cannot give,_

_Something I cannot offer upon the goldstained_  
_Altar. It is time, they say, to face the rising sun—_  
_But how can I grasp it? How can I bask_  
_When I sit in the eye of a raging storm?_

Rey’s breath hitches in her throat.

Did he really write this?

She checks the date, finds that it was originally published seven years ago. Still, she shuffles, now uncomfortable, as if she’d seen something that she shouldn’t have. As if she’d seen something too intimate, had it laid bare right in front of her, without him even knowing.

Who was Kylo Ren seven years ago? She wonders idly, her imagination running. She’d never considered Googling him before, but she might do it _now_. But should she? She feels like she’s already seen too much, and Rey is no stranger to storms in her past.

Where was _she_ seven years ago? Scrubbing floors at Plutt’s, that’s what.

She swallows thickly, shoves the book back into its space and then turns away, satisfied with her attempts at researching for today. And yet the images continue to filter into her head, her own curiosity bubbling up inside of her.

Professor Ren as just another college boy, a permanent scowl on his face. Scribbling poetry into some black leather notebook, his glasses sliding down his nose. Would he even attend any parties? Would he stand in the corner with a drink, sneering at the chaos that would unfold in front of him? Or would he find something else to occupy his time…

_These days are for mourning to the tune of birdsong._

What does that mean?

_What happened?_

She grips the strap of her backpack and exits the shelves, wondering if the nearest sandwich shop is still open… Until she skids to a stop, her body swinging backwards at the momentum.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? That here, in an isolated part of the library _right beside_ the poetry shelves, she’d find the man himself sitting at a desk, his nose buried in a book. Professor Ren sits a few meters away, his figure clear-cut against the emptiness of the rest of the room. His sleeves are rolled up and his glasses are perched on his nose, glinting at a certain angle of the lamplight.

Rey backs away slowly, but she can’t turn her head.

He’s surrounded by a pile of heavy books and loose sheaves of paper. He sets down the book he’d been reading, pages up, and then grabs a black pen and twirls it between his fingers in idle thought. He’s always so _busy_ , Rey thinks. She only ever sees him while he’s working.

 _You barely see him,_ a voice inside her whispers. _Outside of class. Which is how it should be. He’s your professor._

But she’s curious, that’s all—

He blinks. His head rises slowly, and Rey’s eyes widen. She leaps back into the shelf and stands with her back pressed against it, backpack hugged to her chest. She doesn’t know why she’s hiding, why she’s so embarrassed, but she is—and she doesn’t like it.

A whole minute later (she counted) she peeks out. He’s focusing on his books again, and with one hand he scribbles something down onto the paper. Rey doesn’t stop to wonder or peek; she takes the long way out of the room.

 

 

She _doesn’t_ Google him, of course, if only because that would make their next class much more awkward. How can she continue to sit there, taking in his lectures on romantic idealism and verse when she’s read his angsty, old poetry? There’s something special in being published so young, she knows, but he’s also a tenured professor under thirty, and _everyone_ knows Kylo Ren, so is it really a surprise?

(And if everyone just knows him for his cutting remarks on students’ papers or his legendary screaming matches with a certain Professor Armitage Hux… well, that counts too)

The steady sound of a calming guitar solo playing from her speakers is interrupted by a thump. Rey frowns, looks to the upside-down room with her head hanging from her bed. An upside-down Finn hops into her line of vision while balanced on one foot, the other one caught in a half-unlaced sneaker. Rey doesn’t move; she just continues to lay flat on her back with her arms spread on her sides.

“You all right, Finn?” she calls out.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, caught off breath. He manages to untie a nasty shoelace knot, and then shoves his entire foot into the shoe. Then straightens his trouser hems, his shirt, his jacket, smooths down his hair…

He’s dressed quite nice today. Rey narrows her eyes.

“Got a date?” she asks. Finn _almost_ jumps, but instead he spins to face her through her open bedroom doorway and offers a laugh.

“Nah, just a night out with the guys. With Poe.”

“With _a_ guy, you mean.”

“It’s a party,” he explains, not making eye contact. Rey smirks. “There will be other guys there too.”

“And then you’ll invite him for a bite to eat at a quieter place and the two of you will sneak out together? Yeah, I know your tactics, Finn.”

Finn huffs jokingly, crosses his arms over his chest.

“You make me sound so smooth. Poe’s the smooth one, not me…”

“Sure thing, loverboy.”

“You scoff at romance _now_ , Rey Kenobi, but I swear one day when you grow up you’re going to find someone who makes you want to give them goo-goo eyes—“

Rey blindly grabs a nearby pillow and then throws it in Finn’s direction. She misses wildly, and it thumps against her doorframe. Finn cackles, his grin brightening up the room.

“Oh, sod off. You’ll be late for your date,” she says, grinning.

“Don’t get too lonely without me,” Finn sings, already at the door. “See you later, Rey!”

“Oh, I’ve got Rose; I’ll survive!” she yells out, but the door’s already shut. Rey sighs, eyes the empty apartment, and then rolls to her side with a groan. The song loops, and Rey sits there with a voice crooning into her ear, the blood rushing to her head.

_“I’m not alone in the mystery. I’m not alone.”_

The apartment is still.

Rey sighs, tapping her finger against the mattress to the beat of the song. She pauses.

“Oh, Kriff, I still have that paper.”

 

 

She can do it. Sneak into the English Department, drop off her paper at Professor Ren’s pigeonhole and then slip away unnoticed. It’s a late Friday afternoon; he shouldn’t be in here, right? The rest of the Department is thankfully empty, with nothing but the sound of papers fluttering in a stray breeze. Rey scans the room on her tiptoes, and then when she finds nothing, quickly locates the right slot and drops her piece in.

“Right on time, Miss Kenobi.”

She freezes.

Rey spins around and lets out a nervous laugh. Professor Ren stands behind her, a hand tucked into one of his trouser pockets. He glances at his watch and then at her, but instead of a snappy word he only smiles in that strange way of his—one edge of his mouth lifting upwards.

“Only fifty seconds to spare. I’m impressed.”

Oh, is _that_ sarcasm? Rey shuts her mouth tight, wondering what to say.

“Well, I’m not late,” she replies. And then frowns. “I had another shift after class, so I couldn’t leave early.”

Professor Ren looks at her from behind his glasses, an amused glint in his eye. He shrugs one shoulder.

“I said it was fine, didn’t I? I’m closing the box now.”

He strides forward, some tape in his hands. Rey steps back, but she doesn’t have to—he side-steps her widely, those strides long. He tapes up the slot with efficiency, and the room is silent save for the nose of ripping. She _should_ leave, really.

“Did you have trouble with it?” Professor Ren asks. His voice is low but pleasant, and Rey is so surprised that he’s asking her that she replies a beat too late.

“A bit,” she admits. “It’s a bit too much for me, you know, all that… flowery idealism.”

She catches the side-profile of his smile. He hums.

“Yes, I know. You’ve made it quite clear.” His lip twitches. “But that’s all right. Not everyone can appreciate it.”

“It’s not that I can’t appreciate it,” she murmurs. “I wish I could. I just can’t see how anyone can look at the world with such rose-tinted glasses. I’d call myself an optimist, but putting someone on a pedestal for having a ‘pure heart’—“

Professor Ren flinches. Rey shuts her mouth, realizes that she’s been blabbing. She steps backwards, about to bid goodbye, but then he looks at her, tilts his head towards the shelves. His eyes are black and piercing.

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” he asks in a whisper. “Idealizing a pure heart?”

Rey meets his eyes. She smiles, soft and small.

“Does anyone _really_ have a pure heart?” she suggests. “We’re all imperfect. Doesn’t mean you’re lost forever. If you idealize someone, in the end you’ll just be—“

“Disappointed,” Professor Ren finishes for her. Rey nods. Once, and then twice, more shyly.

There’s a silence between them, but Rey doesn’t itch, doesn’t stammer. Professor Ren looks at her, and then looks away, his eyes focusing on a spot beside her elbow that she knows doesn’t exist. She waits for him to speak, waits for that low, calming voice to come out once more.

“We have an obsession with the light,” he says softly. Rey watches intently, her gaze entirely focused on him. He doesn’t look at her, but she blinks at the frames of his glasses, at the slope of his nose. She was wrong that time at the café. _This_ is the closest that she’s ever stood to him, and every feature on his face stands out clearly. She could memorize them at this rate; can even pick out the large ears peeking from behind his long hair. His voice is just as solemn as when he’s reading poetry out loud in their classroom. “But in reality, we are creatures of emotion—and so we are compelled by the dark. Into the dark.”

Rey feels like he’s having a conversation with himself that she isn’t entirely privy to. She nods, half in agreement. He catches her nod.

“Huxley knew that what we love would ruin us,” he continues, that smile growing bitter. He takes in a deep breath, his shoulders falling. “Too much light is blinding.”

“But if there’s not enough light then you’ll never see the world around you,” Rey counters. Professor Ren blinks, as if he’d forgotten that she was there… and then he smiles again, small and approving. Amused, perhaps.

“A lovely philosophy, Miss Kenobi.”

Rey laughs. Even being addressed by her last name has stopped scaring her. It’s strange, this warmth she feels—this sudden comfort, this realization that he’s just as human as she is. That he was a student once, that he’d known crushing disappointment after disappointment.

Aren’t they the same?

_You always try to find yourself in other people._

Rey swallows down that thought and then looks back up. Professor Ren raises a hand, about to shoo her away.

“Thank you for the conversation. But don’t you have a class or a party or something to go to…?”

“I read your poem,” she spurts out suddenly, words tumbling out of her lips. They’re both silent, and then Professor Ren blinks. His mouth falls open, voice already rising in a question, but Rey beats him to it. “The old one in _American Romantics_. It was in the library.”

His jaw tightens. Rey wonders if he’s about to shoo her away for real _now_ , but instead of boiling anger she senses another emotion. He tenses up, and he swallows wordlessly, as his ears and cheeks begin to glow a light shade of pink.

“That’s—that was one of my earliest works. I don’t know why they still have that garb—“

“I liked it,” Rey admits honestly. “Um, I understood it. I liked it, honest. And the last line really hit me…”

She didn’t think it was possible for him to stare at her any longer. But that’s exactly what he does—he stares at her with wide, black eyes that quiver in wonderment. It must be pure shock: that slow loosening of his jaw, the doe-eyed blink, the gaze so disbelieving that he looks youthful. Did he even have crow’s feet? Did he even have any lines on his face? They melt off just as her mess of a sentence melts into thin air.

She laughs, because heat begins to erupt all over her face.

She has to go. Now.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’ll get out of your way, Professor!”

She spins around, throwing a wave and an extra “Goodbye!” at him without turning her head. She almost slams into the door, exits it with a loud bang and a flurry of movement, biting her lip as she feels the warmth spread through the back of her neck as well.

_Dumb, stupid, embarrassing._

It’s engraved into her brain: the way he’d stared at her when she admitted that she liked his poem… The bright eyes, like a deer caught in headlights, and that almost innocent tinge to his cheeks—

_Stop harassing your damn professor, Rey Kenobi._

She wants to scream. At herself. Multiple times.

She screams once when she reaches an empty clearing. A nearby pigeon coos and flies away in a flurry of feathers, frightened by her madwoman cursing.

 

 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go Maz’s with us?” Finn asks, leaning against her doorframe. “It’s Double or Nothing Night. You _love_ Double or Nothing Night.”

Rey replies affirmatively, though it comes out sounding more like a muffled _humph._ She sits in bed, cross-legged, while hugging her pillow to her chest. She pouts, though the lower half of her face is buried into the pillowcase, and so Finn only stares at her drooping shoulders and her moody eyes.

“I’m not that hungry,” she repeats, lifting her chin so he can hear her. Finn’s eyes go wide.

“Rey _isn’t hungry?_ Are you feeling all right? Are you sick?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she groans out. It’s sweet that Finn cares, she supposes, but she still can’t get over her mortification from this afternoon. Sitting in a crowded bar and restaurant, being surrounded by cheering customers, isn’t exactly her best idea of how to spend the rest of the night. Even with extra food for half the price off. “I’ll grab a bite to eat later. I just don’t feel like going out.”

“If you aren’t feeling so good, we could order some take-out.”

“It’s just pure laziness and not being sick, I swear.”

Finn frowns at her, one of his brows raised. Rey sighs and waves her hand in the air half-heartedly, gesturing to shoo him away.

“It’s just that you were fine this morning…”

“I don’t feel like being surrounded by so many people tonight, okay?” she finally admits. “It’s been a rough week with the extra shifts and all.”

Finn finally nods in understanding. He stands up straight but doesn’t remove his gaze off of her.

“All right, Peanut, I get you. You deserve some rest. But grab some dinner and call any of us if you need anything, okay?”

“I’m not a little kid, _Mom,_ ” Rey replies, rolling her eyes. Still she smiles. It’s nice to be doted on for once. Finn rolls his eyes too.

“I’m just concerned. So, one more time. You sure you don’t want to go with us?”

Rey shakes her head slowly. Finn chuckles.

“Okay, okay, got it. I’ll leave you alone to sulk.”

“I do not sulk.”

“Good to know.”

“ _Goodbye, Finn_.”

“And she’s kicking me out! See you later, Rey.”

“Later.”

The door shuts with a click. Rey stares at it for three seconds before shoving her face back into her pillow with a groan.

She’d grown up hating Friday nights. Saturdays meant there was no school, so she’d have to spend hours cooped up doing Plutt’s dirty work. Weekends meant bucketloads (sometimes literal) of chores upon chores without a break in sight.

And even now, hundreds of miles away from that miserable man, she greets weekends with a mixture of excitement and dread. It’s wonderful, being able to _choose_ not to do anything, to lie in bed all day and know that there aren’t floors to be mopped or else she’ll be spared of dinner. It’s also wonderful to have friends like Finn and Rose and lately even Poe, except that sometimes even their world becomes too loud for her liking. Too close, too social, and despite the discomfort she ends up with a fear of missing out.

“This is dumb,” she mutters under her breath.

Now that Finn is gone and the apartment is empty, something unfurls inside of Rey—it’s a chaotic fizzing, an electric spark. She feels restless, cramped within the four walls of her room (still much bigger than her old one). Her stomach barely grumbles, but she figures she might as well eat something now before she regrets it later.

She sighs.

She hadn’t bothered undressing since she’d gotten back, so all she does is zip up a jacket and pull on her boots. She spares herself a glance in the mirror, only attempts to smooth down her hair once, and then exits the apartment without another thought. She shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets and then briskly walks out into the night, wondering where she should go.

The streets aren’t empty. A couple waltzes past, both of their heads thrown back in laughter as they walk arm in arm. Two college boys prop up their friend in the middle, pull him up by the back of his jacket and howl at his drunken babble. Rey turns her head, curls into herself, wonders how the others are doing.

_No, you chose to stay in tonight. Don’t bother thinking about that._

If she gets far away enough from campus then there are less chances of running into anyone she knows. So on pure instinct, Rey takes a detour, cuts through an avenue and back alleys, retraces her steps to a shop she’d visited only twice before, a place she’d discovered by accident.

And it’s comforting, the way this building barely looms over her. It’s nestled between two small houses, and in the dark of night it emits a faint orange light. It’s a bright star on the asphalt streets, leaving Rey in a faint glow of fluorescent warmth and the scent of coffee.

When she pushes the glass door open, a bell rings, signalling her presence. The counter is mostly empty, so she makes her way to the front and takes a seat on one of the tall red stools, leans her elbows on the surface and waits for the lone chef to face her. He has his back to her, and she watches him, entranced, as he pulls strings of dough into the shape of noodles.

The lone clock on the far wall ticks by endlessly, accompanied by the _slap slap slap_ of dough on the countertop.

Finally, the chef turns towards the counter. He gives them all a sweeping smile, and says, “May I take your orders?”

“One chicken lo mian,” she says. Her voice is overlaid by a softer, deeper one saying the exact same thing. She turns her head and freezes, her hands clenching into fists on the countertop.

Upon hearing her voice, Professor Ren glances at her too. They stare at each other, eyes wide and mouths falling slightly open in wordless surprise. The chef turns away, readying his ingredients, and besides him the rest of the restaurant falls hushed and still—including the two of them. At least six stools lie between them, but there’s nothing, no cover to hide Rey’s steadily embarrassed face.

But at least it isn’t just her who’s been caught off guard. Professor Ren looks away first, his head turning sharply. He reaches up to adjust the rim of his glasses. Rey finally notices the notebook lying open on his elbow, and his discarded pen. He’d probably been deep in work again, and hadn’t even noticed her coming in.

And how had she not noticed _him_? He’s traded his dark longcoat for a knitted white jumper underneath a black leather jacket. It looks good on him, as usual, but it seems like _everything_ does.

Rey opens her mouth, but words don’t come out. Instead, there’s the clang of cutlery, the endless smacking of dough against human hands.

“Professor,” she says, no, _calls_ out. She swallows, and then folds her hands together. “Good evening.” _I’m sorry about this afternoon._

He nods once.

“Good evening,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” Rey finally blurts. He blinks at her, caught off-guard once more… and the edges of his eyes soften, crinkle into amused lines. He offers a small smile, barely there, just a relaxing of the lips.

“It’s fine, Miss Kenobi. I was just surprised,” and then exhales sharply. “And both flattered and mortified.”

She laughs. “I felt like I had to tell you.”

Again, that mysterious almost-half-smile. “I’d be happier if you reassured me that you hid that book somewhere no one else would find it. Or destroyed it, even.”

Rey gasps in fake-surprise. “Destroying library property is prohibited, Professor! I could never.”

“Oh, no one would suspect a little accident with the shelves collapsing, I think.”

That twinkle in his eyes… is it playful? Rey bites her lip, but it isn’t enough to retract her blooming smile.

“I haven’t told anyone about your _early works_ ,” she says, crossing a hand over her heart. “So your secret is safe with me, I promise.”

Professor Ren wrinkles his nose. It shifts his glasses higher up his face. “’Early works’ makes me sound like I’m already dead.”

“Dead but with a Wikipedia page.”

He bursts out into laughter. The sound is oddly charming—loud and boisterous, barely contained. It lasts for a mere two seconds, and yet it pierces Rey’s ears, wraps her in its airiness. He smiles without reservation, that mouth cracking up, and Rey is entranced—she can’t look away from such a rare sight.

Of course, in the end, he sighs and adjusts his spectacles. The grin is gone from his face, but the mirth in his eyes remain.

“Is that how we measure success nowadays?” he asks wryly. Rey grins back.

“Oh, why, don’t you have one?”

He doesn’t. Rey caved in and checked eventually. Just glanced at page one of Google on her phone, skimming titles of articles and journals and an Amazon book link. Kylo Ren does not have a Wikipedia page, which fits perfectly with his mystery, she thinks.

“Not yet, and hopefully not ever.”

“Chicken lo mian,” the chef interrupts. He serves them both, a bowl in each hand. Each bowl slides smoothly onto the countertop—first Rey’s, and then Professor Ren’s. Rey is momentarily distracted by the aroma, by the thickness of the broth. She hears a notebook closing, and then the clink of a spoon against the heavy porcelain bowl.

She takes that as a cue to dig in.

Always, always she digs in. She never knew when she wouldn’t have any, so she’d take all that she could and would keep it where it was safest: inside her belly. Rey slurps and chows and swallows at an alarming speed, not letting up even as the soup threatens to burn her tongue, not even when the taste of ginger bursts into her mouth.

She swallows more than tastes, but even then she can feel it all as it whizzes past her throat: the soft noodles, the tender chicken lightly spiced, the broth that makes her lips tingle with pepper. Only when she’s slurped the last strand of noodle, only when she’s about to pour the rest of the soup into her mouth, is when she dares glance to her right.

Professor Ren is only halfway done. He doesn’t make a nose as he lifts another spoonful of noodles into his mouth. And at that moment, he glances back at her slightly, with just a movement of his eyes. Their gazes meet, with both of them mid-bite, and Rey swallows before she can choke on a laugh.

It’s ridiculous, she thinks, but she can’t help it. After drinking the rest of the broth and downing her glass of water, Rey sighs, presses her cheek against the countertop. She shuts her eyes, content and full, and then opens them to the blurry image of lights through the glass window, of Professor Ren dutifully drinking his broth, a spoon held in his hand as he would a pair of chopsticks.

Surely, he’s aware that she’s staring at him. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look back, just continues on eating. She watches him, mainly because there isn’t anything else to do. The chef’s movements are background noise—the clink of cups, the sound of running water. Her wrist is pressed against her ear. She can hear her heartbeat, and she can see Professor Ren bowing his head slightly. His hair falls against his pale jaw.

Rey is still.

When he finishes, he pats his mouth dry with a napkin. Rey’s eyes wander to his closed notebook, and she wonders what’s inside of it. The leather is smooth but the pages are dark with absorbed ink.

“Are you writing a book?” she asks. Her eyes flitter up to meet his.

“Not exactly.”

“An essay?”

He folds his hands together on the table and leans forward, shoulders hunched as he meets her sideward gaze. “I wasn’t aware you were suddenly quite interested in the field of English Romantic Poetry, Miss Kenobi.”

Was that overstepping? Rey pushes onwards.

“I think I like it when it isn’t too sappy.”

He chuckles once. An exhale of air.

“It’s a personal project,” he finally explains. Of course, it doesn’t explain anything at all. “But I don’t have enough material. Lately I’ve been lacking… inspiration.”

“Sounds hard.”

His smile is strained.

“Oh, I have an idea for you!” She continues. “Ode to Chicken Lo Mian.”

He raises a brow so high that Rey would wince… if she weren’t snickering so hard.

“Is that too unromantic?”

“Maybe a little too romantic,” he counters. They both huff in laughter.

“I could never write poetry,” Rey says. “I mean, I never even liked it… But I still hope you can get your inspiration soon.”

_I like what you write._

“Thank you, Miss Kenobi.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Rey, please call me Rey. Miss Kenobi doesn’t feel right.”

He blinks. _But it’s your name_ , she expects him to say. He doesn’t. Not at all. He only nods once, eyes sliding half-shut in a pained emotion that she can’t name. It’s gone in a second.

“Rey, then, when we’re out of the classroom. Good enough?”

“Good enough,” she grins.

Professor Ren turns his body towards her to share in her small laugh. Even with the small distance between them, Rey can see every bump on the pattern of his sweater. He bends his elbow, and the fabric of his leather jacket tightens around his body—making him look younger, brighter, lighter in the fluorescent lamplight. She thinks of him as a monolith at the head of the classroom: a tall man in a dark coat, wearing a perpetual scowl.

There’s no trace of that familiar scowl on his face.

Rey buries her mouth into her arm, shyly hiding her smile. They’re both silent, and Professor Ren takes that moment to reopen his notebook, to pick up his pen. With the din of pen scribbling on paper and bowls being washed in the distance, Rey feels that being wordless is enough.

She taps her finger to an invisible rhythm, to a song stuck in her head. The night grows long. She watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter with some more initial awkwardness. Professor Ren is not at all what he seems.
> 
> -[The song Rey was listening to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfJb_V6gVPA)  
> -"Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us." -Neil Postman  
> -[She Walks in Beauty](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43844/she-walks-in-beauty): the poem that Rey disliked (both in this chapter and the previous one)
> 
> I'm also on [twitter](http://twitter.com/holyrenperor). Or you can send me a message on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/caulifl0ral) if you have any comments, questions, or requests!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debates in the classroom and the coffee shop.

“You’re so lucky you didn’t tag along,” Rose is saying. “I swear, those two were being _insufferable_ all night.”

She pushes the door open, and they step inside the classroom. For once, Professor Ren is early; he’s in front, setting up the projector, wires tangled in his hands. He looks up and meets Rey’s gaze, and she smiles at him from a distance, mouths a small _“hi”_.

He returns her smile with one of his own. His face shifts: from mildly moody, almost blank, to strangely boyish and shy. It lasts for two seconds at most, and then he looks back down to figure out how to untangle the cords in his grip. Rey turns to Rose when she feels the shorter girl tugging at her arm.

She hasn’t even realized that the girl had cut herself off mid-sentence, no longer talking about whatever it was that happened last week—it’s fine; she’ll probably repeat it again later.

Instead, Rose is staring at her with two raised brows and jaw mildly slack with shock.

“What?” Rey asks, affronted.

“You said hi to Professor Ren. And he _smiled back_.”

“Is that so weird?”

_Yes, actually, it is._

“Um. _Yes_ , it is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile at a student that wasn’t either making a groundbreaking analysis or cringing in pain.”

“You’re spending too much time with Finn.”

“That last part was a joke.” A beat. “For real, though, why? How did you get on his good side?”

“I’m not on his good side,” Rey mumbles. They take their seats, and she shifts in hers, growing mildly uncomfortable. “I’ve just run into him outside class, that’s all.”

Rose’s mouth makes a little _oh_.

“Where? What happened? What’s he like outside of class?”

“All right there, calm down, Rose,” Rey tells her, raising her hands in a barrier. She tries not to laugh at Rose’s eagerness. “It was during my shift, and then in the English Department when I dropped off my paper. He’s actually… nice.”

“Nice?” Rose leans back against her chair. The smile that slips onto her lips is Cheshire-like. “You think he’s nice.”

“Yes…?”

Something suspicious gleams in Rose’s eyes, but she doesn’t say another word. Rey opens her mouth to ask about it, but then on second thought, keeps her mouth shut. That face she’s making is a familiar one, but Rey has never been on the directly receiving end before.

Therefore, she’ll ignore it.

“We’re doing something a bit different today,” Professor Ren calls out. As his voice booms, the room quiets down. “We’ll be having a public discussion; anyone is free to voice their opinions on the text, and others are free to challenge them or add their insights. I’ll only be facilitating and asking questions, but this time, you won’t hear any answers from me.”

The room erupts in groans and murmurs. Professor Ren’s face remains blank, and Rose cringes.

“Please don’t call me,” she whispers. Rey bares her teeth.

“What were we even supposed to read today?”

“The Lady of Shalott.”

“Oh.”

“It’s important to engage other perspectives from that of your own,” Professor Ren continues. “And judging by how most of you did on the last paper, I think this will help you gather your thoughts better. If you can’t do it by writing, then you should at least try through speech.”

Rose crosses her fingers. A girl raises her hand instantly. It’s the same one from before: perky, blonde, and too wide-eyed for Rey’s taste. Professor Ren cocks his head.

“I thought it was really sad,” the girl begins. “The Lady of Shalott was so miserable and lonely. All she could do was weave all day. I mean, how did she even know there _was_ a curse if she didn’t know what would happen? What if she could have looked outside and gone to Camelot the entire time? What if that voice in her head was just her own thoughts?”

“Um, I don’t think that’s how it works,” another student calls out. He sits at the back and wears a gray hoodie. “That’s not how. Curses work.”

“She still died in the end,” another girl says. Blondie shoots both of them a glare.

“So your interpretation is that she only _thought_ there was a curse?” Professor Ren interrupts, right before she can rely sharply. Once she glances at him, her face is pleasant once more. She gives a serious nod.

“It was a self-fulfilling prophecy,” she pronounces clearly. “She was too scared to face the real world. She couldn’t face anything except all her made-up dreams; that’s why she was so miserable. It was entirely in her power to go outside. Instead all she did was blame a stupid curse.”

“And what do you think that means?”

“I think,” she continues primly. “That Tennyson is telling us to chase our dreams, even when we’re afraid. If you don’t get out of your comfort zone, then you won’t achieve anything. And even if you fail, then you know it’s still better to have tried.”

The room is silent. Rey is pretty sure that at a third of the class isn’t listening. But whatever, it doesn’t matter. Rose still grips her pen anxiously.

“Are we ignoring the fact that she _died_ at the end?” Rey calls out. Her voice is projected a bit too loudly, and several rows of heads turn to face her. Professor Ren makes eye contact too, and she shifts her gaze so her voice doesn’t falter. “That she was cursed in the first place? Stuck in her high tower with nothing to do and no company? No freedom?”

Rey pauses, weighing the words in her mouth. She’s vaguely aware of Rose’s wide-eyed stare, but she continues on. Swallows the nerves down.

“None of these were self-inflicted. They were _imposed_ on her. There were people like the harvesters who knew she existed, but did they care? No, they even thought she was a fairy. They didn’t think she was a real human being.”

“What are you getting at?” Professor Ren prompts.

“The Lady of Shalott only had her dreams for company, because she was _forbidden_ from going outside and living a life of her own. It had nothing to do with a lack of courage, and everything to do with self-preservation. How many medieval or Victorian women would be allowed to roam free and have a life outside of the home? How many could do that and remain unpunished? Come on.”

“Aren’t you reading into it too much?” Blondie asks.

“Tennyson was from the nineteenth century. I’m sure he could see that much.”

“ _Want_ to roam free? I thought she just wanted to check out that hot knight,” a guy near the front laughs. Rey rolls her eyes.

“Sir Lancelot is part of the allure of Camelot. She could have had a good life if she wasn’t trapped in the castle. The curse is partially how she’s socially expected to just sit still and follow orders to _stay_.”

“So basically, if she wasn’t so afraid of what _society thinks_ then she could have been happy!” Blondie exclaims. Rey sighs.

“It’s not that simple, you know. In the end she was brave enough, or sick enough of her situation, to actually escape but look where that got her. Look where that gets other strong women who are done with society’s shit.”

Professor Ren raises a brow but doesn’t speak. Rey opens her mouth and glances at him, but instead of a disapproving gaze he returns her look with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“Called out. Ostracized. Blamed. _Dead_. And in the end, after she’s dead and everyone is looking at her horrifically, what does Lancelot say? All he can comment on is how _beautiful_ she is. Like all he cares about is her appearance.”

“It’s pretty ironic,” someone comments. “Since he was technically the reason why she died.”

“Nobody really cared for her, whether she was dead or alive.” Rey sniffs. “It was all just about expectation. But what about her? What about what she _wanted_?”

Rose’s gentle hand on her arm makes Rey whip her head to the side. She bristles, and then calms down, shoulders drooping. She swallows, and she feels the entire room breathe with her… watching and waiting for her to let out another word.

“That’s all,” Rey finishes, her voice small. She looks down at the ground, intensely aware of the many stares on her. She clenches her jaw, but Rose’s hand is soothing against her shoulder, and she realizes that she doesn’t care.

“Does anyone want to add anything?” Professor Ren asks, voice level and professional. There are a few shrugs and blank stares, but Rey doesn’t speak anymore for the rest of the class.

 

“You can collect your essays in front,” Professor Ren says, right as the clock signals the end of their class. He adjusts his glasses with a thumb and a forefinger, and then quietly settles behind his desk. He brings out a thick ream of papers from his satchel, and then carefully arranges them into piles onto his desk. A crowd gathers instantly, and Rey almost smiles when she catches his grim expression. He would tut, if he could. She’s sure.

She and Rose hang on in the background, waiting for everyone else to leave.

“Ohhh, I wonder what I got,” Rose murmurs. They approach slowly, waiting for the rest of the students to trail out of the room. Those last two had expressions that were particularly dark. “I spent _so_ long on it, but I don’t think what I said even made sense.”

“I’m sure you did great,” Rey tells her with a pat on her wrist. The last guy leaves, instantly folding his paper and shoving it into his bag unread. They stare at him as he runs out of the room… and then Rose and Rey bump into the very edge of Professor Ren’s desk.

“I got a B?” Rose asks, disbelieving. She picks up her essay and stares at it with a slack jaw. Professor Ren only looks on, a brow raised. “Woah, I didn’t expect to get that high.”

“B+,” Rey checks. She grabs hers, and then glances upwards to meet Professor Ren’s gaze. He tilts his head, the edge of his lip curling up slightly.

“You almost got it,” he says. “Good work on today’s discussion, Miss Kenobi.”

Rey can’t resist the smile that curls onto her lips. “I got a little too passionate.”

He shakes his head. “Passion is a great thing. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have any.”

“For a minute there, I thought I was going to start a fight.”

“Don’t worry. I would’ve stopped it,” he replies. His voice is low but friendly, and Rey _does not_ shiver. The table separates them, and yet she feels that they’re standing much too close. “It’s my professional responsibility.”

“But if you weren’t obliged to…?”

He smirks. “Verbal smackdowns always make class more exciting. Don’t you agree?”

She grins. “I’ve never started shit in the name of defending _poetry_ before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“You sound like you’ve got experience in that department.”

“I do. I’ve been in the field long enough,” he says. Briefly, something catches the edge of Rey’s vision, and when she turns her head she sees Rose staring at her with both brows raised. And that strange smile again. The self-consciousness hits her, and Rey takes a step backward as her face erupts in warmth.

“I-I have another class to go to,” Rey mutters. Professor Ren nods. Rose doesn’t even bother to hide her giggle. “Um, thank you, sir. See you on Friday?”

“See you on Friday, Miss Kenobi. Miss Tico.”

“Bye, Professor!” Rose calls out cheerily. Rey smacks her lightly on the arm, and then they both dash out of the room, leaving the older man behind.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Rose turns to Rey with a gigantic grin on her face. Rey only pouts, huffing as they walk out of the hallway.

“Not on his good side, huh, Rey?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Rose just cackles.

 

 

“One green tea macchiato!” Paige calls out. The customer—a short brunette—picks it up with a smile. Paige grins back. As soon as the customer leaves, Paige whips her head towards her sister who’s seated at the nearest table.

“No way,” she says. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I was there to witness everything.”

“Rey? Our little Rey of sunshine? You’re joking.”

“Stop talking about me,” Rey grumbles from across the counter. “I can hear you.”

“I’m pretty sure Professor Ren smiled at her more times in one day than he’s ever smiled at the rest of the class for this entire semester,” Rose only continues, ignoring her friend. Rey huffs, crosses her arms over her chest and angrily punches in a customer’s order into the cash register. Rose’s voice is hushed and low, but she can still _hear her_ , thank you very much.

“I don’t think that’s ever happened before,” Paige hums. She shakes a drink in her hand, the ice cubes crackling and grinding inside the container. “I took him for Romantic Poetry and Neoclassicism. I’ve had two semesters of his grumbling.”

“Are his comments really that savage?” Rose whispers conspiratorially. Paige’s grin is blinding.

“Not to me.”

“But to others…”

“Poor souls,” Paige muses. She arranges an iced drink and a mug of hot coffee onto a tray. Adds two napkins. “Some people just don’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, Rey stands more than just a chance.”

“And we’re proud of her! You’re amazing; don’t you know that, girl?” Paige throws a whoop in Rey’s direction. Rey sighs, but a smile creeps onto her face. “You’re stronger than most of us Lit majors.”

“I disagree with the content most of the time,” Rey adds, voice flat.

“That doesn’t matter. I mean, okay, I guess it does, but not with him. He may be a hardass, but he’s responsible enough to respect your opinions if you argue for them well enough. How do you think I survived two of his classes? Two?”

“I thought you took them by choice. As a challenge,” Rose says.

“That’s what I told myself,” Paige explains. “Vanilla latte and black coffee! Anyway, I always liked Romantic Poetry, so I thought I’d give it a shot. And by the time I had to take the Neoclassics, I’d run out of slots for the other professors. At least by then I knew how he worked.”

“Does he come here often?” Rose asks. “Rey said she ran into him here.”

“Well. That’s news to me.” Paige raises a brow. After glancing at the entrance and making sure that there’s no more line, she leans against the countertop and exhales deeply. The siblings look towards Rey, and they watch as she very carefully polishes the pastry box with a spare rag.

She’ll polish this box until it shines, damnit. Rey isn’t listening to them anymore.

“Who was on shift then?” Paige wonders. Rey’s eye twitches ever so slightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen Professor Byron outside of class ever, except during conferences and awards ceremonies.”

“Awards ceremonies?”

Rey’s ears perk up but she stays silent.

“Yeah, don’t you know? He’s a _legend._ He’s published tons of articles, written books, and won a couple of prestigious writing awards too. I saw him on TV once.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I don’t always like his stuff, but I can respect it. He’s quite skilled.”

“You’ve read his poetry?” Rose’s voice is so high-pitched she almost screams. Paige barks out in laughter.

“Oh, god, not all of it. Just one or two, the ones that won awards.”

Rose’s head whips to Rey. The taller girl finally meets her gaze.

“Did you know any of this?” Rose asks excitedly. Rey, for once, only stares blankly.

“Not all of it…” Rey confesses. “Just that he’s published books. And won some awards, but I didn’t know what exactly.”

Only because she Googled him.

“Well, now you know,” Rose says. “I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Rey mumbles. “I’m not a Literature major or an enthusiast like you guys. I just need to pass this elective and graduate with my Engineering degree. I’m lucky enough Professor Ren likes my stuff as it is.”

“Aww, those things aren’t mutually exclusive, you know?” Paige replies, her voice growing soft. She smiles at Rey, expression bright. “And if he likes your stuff, then that means that you’re _gifted_. You’re a smart girl, Rey. Maybe you’ve got talent for other fields too.”

“This degree won’t pay for itself,” she only replies. Paige sighs.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get off your back for now. But you don’t _have_ to pursue it formally, you know? I mean, when I was a kid I started—“

The bell at the front door chimes distantly, cutting through their conversation. The three girls whip their heads toward the doorway, and Rey swallows. She can _feel_ the Tico sisters’ gazes on her.

And that’s dumb, isn’t it? He’s just another customer; she doesn’t understand what makes him so special. Professor Ren strides to the counter, his hair a windswept mess—a bounce of curls atop his head and over his ears, his hair dark as night. He wears a fitted gray blazer over a blue collared shirt, and the fabric of his jacket strains against his bicep when he lifts a hand to run through his hair.

He breathes a little heavily, as if he’d rushed here.

For a moment, everyone is silent, holding their breaths. Professor Ren stares at Rey, mouth falling open in a question… And then he turns his head and catches Paige and Rose staring at him from the other end of the counter. He looks back to Rey.

“One black coffee and two bagels, please. For take-out,” he says.

“Black coffee,” Rey calls out distantly, without stopping their eye contact. She hears Paige shuffle behind them, turn on the coffee maker and shift through their bags of roasted beans.

“Busy day?” Professor Ren asks casually. He leans against the drop-off counter, but he’s tall enough that it only reaches up to his thigh. Rey shrugs one shoulder.

“Same as usual,” she replies.

He turns his head to look out the window and into the distance. The leaves are falling steadily now, washing the streets in a canopy of red and yellow. Even the sunlight is different, and it streams through the air in speckled shadows. Rey holds her breath and mechanically heats up two bagels, hyperaware of the fact that he is _not_ staring at her, and that she shouldn’t stare back.

Even the Paige sisters have fallen into a hushed silence; they refuse to speak.

The microwave and the coffee maker are heating up unbearably slowly. Rey taps her fingers on the countertop, counting the seconds in her head.

Finally, finally, the coffee brews. Paige turns to pour it into a disposable cup, her fingers steady. She wraps it in wax paper, and slides it onto the drop-off counter. Rey fishes the bagels out of the microwave with a pair of tongs, and then dumps them into a paper bag with a pair of tissues.

Both girls slide the bag towards Professor Ren. He looks at them both—looks down at them, from that height—and tilts his head to the side.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He nods to them as he grabs each item with a hand. “Miss Kenobi, Miss Tico.” And then as he turns away, he catches Rose at the nearest table. “Miss Tico.”

He walks out, his satchel bouncing at his hip, his paper bag underneath an arm. He pushes the door open and the bell chimes once more—accompanied by a sudden breeze that lifts the edges of his hair.

He disappears in a flash, and Rey watches him go.

She squeezes her eyes tight and facepalms.

“You two,” she mutters. “What was that?”

Paige continues to stare at the exit door, her eyes wide with reverence.

“Wow, he doesn’t look as grumpy as I remember,” she muses. “He really has changed. And he called me Miss Tico too, like he actually remembered who I am…”

Rey frowns, tapping her finger against the edge of the cash register. Something bitter wells up inside of her, but she knows it’s ridiculous, so she tries to push it down. It’s not fair, she thinks, to expect so much out of something that doesn’t _matter_ … But she’d expected him to call her “Rey”, not “Miss Kenobi”.

He’d promised, hadn’t he? It was _Rey_ when they were outside of the classroom. She doesn’t know why she’d held her breath for that single word on his lips, for the shape of her name in his deep voice.

Rose and Paige exchange furtive glances. Paige’s eyebrow is raised especially high.

“It’s a bit late in the afternoon for black coffee, don’t you think?” Paige comments. Rey leans against the pastry box.

“He asked for that the last time too,” Rey tells her.

“Maybe he’s preparing for an all-nighter,” Rose suggests.

“Or he just likes his coffee black,” Rey counters.

“Like his soul,” Paige finishes sombrely.

A beat. And then all three of them cackle—even Rey, who guiltily hides her smile behind her hands.

But oh, she can’t help but wonder. Whether he sees her as Rey or Miss Kenobi, to her he remains _Professor Ren_. The title should be cold and impersonal, just like he is, but she doesn’t find that the case at all.

In the end, though, there’s still so much about him that she doesn’t understand. The image of Kylo Ren is a half-formed phantom in her brain, and she wants desperately to reach out and make it real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Lady of Shalott](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45359/the-lady-of-shalott-1832)
> 
> Honestly, you guys who haven't been turned off by the amount of in-universe poetry discussions are the true MVPs. Writing those especially feels self-indulgent... ~~And embarrassing, when I look back on them~~
> 
> Just wanted to say that this fic is now officially **slowburn**. Hopefully things aren't too dull... but for those who want to wait and skip ahead, the action (or rather, the developments) will pick up at **Chapters Five and Six**. Thank you for reading, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The temper of a bull and the heart of a poet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline of events that will be helpful for future chapters:
> 
> End of August: The semester begins  
> September: This fic begins (Chapter One)  
> Mid-October: Midterms season  
> End of October-first week of November: Holiday break  
> Second week of November: Classes resume

There’s that slight lull in the day: when the countless orders (sparked by cooling weather and the impending stress of midterms) have finally come to an end and all that’s left to do is wait and make them. She faces an empty line and a café full of customers sitting, drinking, reading, talking.

Rey exhales, blows up a stray strand of hair from her line of vision. She leans against the countertop, cheek pillowed against her fist. The familiar din is ever-present as background noise, but she can’t hear anything, not really. She only looks on, eyes scanning the crowd of regulars and one-time customers alike.

Finally, she sets her eyes on a familiar figure. He’s become a fixture recently: always sitting in the same spot near the windows, but farthest from the other tables; laptop and paper strewn over his table; a mug of black coffee and some pastries (he’s moved on from bagels now, once at her suggestion); and an expression of pure concentration, with his serious brows furrowed and back ramrod straight.

Professor Ren only types on, oblivious to the world around him.

He always dresses in dark colors. It suits him, of course, but Rey wouldn’t openly admit that. Still, the sunshine that streams in through the window bathes him in white light. There’s a quip on the tip of Rey’s tongue about the scene—

“Rey. Rey,” Paige calls out to her insistently.

Rey snaps back to reality. She turns her head and catches Paige staring down a customer, her face grim. The young man across the counter looks ready to blow.

“What’s wrong?” Rey asks, approaching. Paige glances at her gratefully.

“What’s wrong?” the man repeats. “What’s _wrong_? I’ve been waiting for my order for almost an hour, and still _nothing_. How long does it take to make one drink?”

“Our apologies, sir,” Paige continues. She’s still holding a glass in her hand. “There’s been a rush of customers, so yours might’ve gotten mixed up. What did you order? I’ll check our list…”

“An iced caramel macchiato,” he sniffs, sneering at her.

“…There’s nothing listed for that, sir,” Paige answers quietly, checking a list taped to the edge of the countertop. She frowns. The man steps forward with his jaw clenched, and Rey crosses her arms over her chest.

“What do you mean you didn’t list it down?! I paid good money for that. Give me my damn drink now—“

“Just a moment, sir,” Paige replies smoothly. “I’ll get to yours as soon as I finish this one—“

“Oh, and make me wait even longer? You call that customer service?”

“May I see your receipt?” Rey cuts in. She narrows her eyes, and the man catches her gaze. He scowls in disgust.

“What, you don’t remember me? You didn’t give me a receipt either. I thought you’d give it with my drink. Don’t try to rip me off; you _know_ I ordered just like everyone else.”

“No, I don’t remember you ordering anything,” Rey says. She grits her teeth, but tries to keep her voice level. “The last customer who ordered a caramel macchiato was a teenage girl with bleached hair. You don’t really match that description.”

The man slams his fist against the countertop. With the force of his hit, the wood rattles, and an empty glass and a mug of coffee sitting on the surface slip off and fall to the ground with a large crash. But the noise of the glass shattering is still faintly muffled by the loudness of his voice. Paige winces.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he yells. The entire café grows silent, and Rey seethes where she stands—she clenches her hands into fists and takes in a deep breath, trying not to yell back.

“No, she’s not,” Paige intervenes. “It’s just company policy to ask for a receipt whenever there’s been a mix-up with the orders.”

“Your dumb cashier didn’t give me any receipt!” he continues. “This is my first time going here, and I’m never coming back again!”

 _We sure hope you don’t,_ Rey thinks sourly. Paige is still offering him a strained smile, but Rey has no time for that bullshit. She glares him down, jaw clenched tight.

For a moment, Rey looks into the distance over the man’s shoulder. She catches a flash of movement. Professor Ren is now staring at her, his own brows furrowed. But no, rather than staring at her he’s staring at _the guy_ —and Rey isn’t happy with the expression her literature professor is making.

His glare is dark as a storm.

Rey looks back to the man. He’s shoving a finger into Paige’s face.

“Is this how they tell you to treat customers? I demand a manager! I’m going to report you for incompetence!” he screams.

“Our manager will tell you the same thing,” Rey continues. “We’ll need to see a receipt, _sir_.”

“You don’t fucking believe me, do you?” he asks, eyes levelled on her. Rey huffs.

“No, and we won’t make you a measly drink if you won’t show us your receipt, which we give out to every customer right after they pay us. Of course, assuming they actually paid us—“

“First you were calling me a liar, and now you’re calling me a cheat? Is that it?!” the man screams. Rey’s gaze flits behind him, and she catches Professor Ren’s figure in the distance. He stands now, unfolds himself to his full height. Without his coat on, she can tell just how broad he is, and just how thinly he’s holding on to his anger. It ripples beneath the surface, reflected in his clenched fists and in his hunched shoulders.

His face darkens even more. It’s accompanied by a scowl blacker than night: a type she’s never seen before, not even when someone says something unbearably stupid in class…

He’s about to stalk forward. She interrupts the man who’s still mid-rant. Paige can’t even get a word in.

 “—get a real job if you can’t even do something as simple as this, you little b—“

“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” Rey exclaims. She offers him the widest, fakest grin. Paige turns to her in surprise. “Why don’t we check the CCTV camera records? There’s a camera up there that’s directed right at the cash register. If it turns out that I didn’t give you a receipt, then the drink is yours, along with another one for free. How about that?”

The man’s face falls when he follows the direction Rey’s pointing at. He opens his mouth and stutters. “U-uh, what kind of…”

“It’s really simple! The computers are in the back room. I can call our manager and all of us can go in and check. If it turns out that you didn’t actually order or pay for anything though, then you’ll be kicked out. Forever. And you’ll have to pay for damages. Let’s see, there are those expensive glasses you just knocked over, along with causing a public disturbance, threatening two employees, an attempted scam…”

The man’s face glows lobster red. Rey’s grin is so wide that it hurts her face. Her gaze flickers behind him, and she catches Professor Ren just standing there, a hand on the back of his chair. He stares back silently.

“Are you threatening a _customer_?” he continues weakly, face still pinched. Rey shrugs.

“That depends if you’re actually a customer,” she replies. “Since the definition of a customer is someone who, you know, pays for what they’ve bought.”

His arm lunges out to swipe at her. Paige pulls Rey back at the last second, and both of them avoid his wide reach. The older girl scrambles to let Rey back onto her feet, and that moment, right as Rey is about to open her mouth and say something _angry_ , the door to the backroom opens wide open.

“You’re causing a disturbance, sir,” their manager replies, rushing to the counter. She stares at him stiffly, but then gently squeezes Rey’s shoulder. Subtly signals her to go. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“On what grounds?” he spits.

“Our young cashier is right; this entire thing _has_ been recorded. After an attempted assault, we are completely in our right to deny you any further service.”

“CCTV cameras,” Rey mouths. Paige sighs in her direction, hands still on Rey’s arms.

“I’ll be the one to escort you off our premises, sir,” the manager continues, her voice firm. The man only glares, his lip curling even further in distaste.

“Nevermind,” he mutters. “I don’t want any of you near me.”

He then stalks off, stomping into the distance. Everyone in the café silently watches him go; almost a dozen pairs of eyes follow him as he shoves the door open. The bell rings daintily, unsuitable for the strength of his push and the redness of his face. When it refuses to close fast enough, he kicks it, and Rey flinches at the noise. But the glass door doesn’t break, and all he does is utter a muffled swear as he disappears around the corner.

Finally, finally, Rey and Paige breathe a sigh of relief.

“Are you girls all right? Do you want to take a break?” their manager asks. They both affirm that they’re all right, and Paige finally releases her grip on Rey’s arm. Slowly, the life bleeds back into the shop—and soon enough, the customers resume the noise of typing and chatter.

“Next time,” the woman continues. She gives Rey a particularly sharp gaze. “When there’s trouble, you should call me instead of handling it yourself.”

“I was doing _fine_ ,” Rey huffs. “He didn’t hurt anyone except himself.”

“He almost hit you,” she counters. “Be smart about this, Rey.”

“ _Yes, ma’am._ ”

“Let me look at you to see if you’re all right.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Rey insists. She pulls her arm away before the woman can touch her, and so the manager drops her hands. Paige offers another reassurance.

“Well, if you both don’t need a break, then you can get back to work. Tell me if you change your minds. I’ll send someone to clean up that mess.”

She turns on her heel, muttering darkly about security and stubborn employees. Paige and Rey both watch the manager leave, and Rey waits until she’s exited the room before making another comment under her breath.

“All that trouble for a caramel macchiato?” she asks. “He didn’t even have good taste.”

Paige only bursts into laughter.

 

 

The wind whips through her hair. Rey tugs the scarf higher up her neck, covering her face. She walks onwards wordlessly, her boots noisy against the pavement.

_Math test. Lab report. Need to re-do my mock-ups. Check the revisions for my drafts…_

Her mind runs a mile a minute. The road is illuminated by lamplight, and she moves with muscle memory, her legs bringing her to that familiar place. She passes a noisy restaurant, but even the roaring laughter that slips through a crack in the door doesn’t disturb her thoughts.

_I get paid on Friday, which means that I can finally deal with the water bill. At least Pava needs help with repairing her scooter too… That’s some more extra cash._

She turns to face the same squat hand-pulled noodle shop. The red neon sign bathes her in its warm glow, and she tugs her scarf down at the same time as she enters the glass doors. As soon as she steps inside, she feels the warmth prickling her skin; it makes her relax her shoulders.

The restaurant is only half-filled tonight. She makes her way to the counter and props herself up on a barstool. The chef is taking an old man’s order, and she watches the two of them interact as she waits. She unwraps the scarf from her neck and folds it on the counter, cushioning her arms with it as she leans on the tabletop.

Finally, the chef turns towards her. They smile at each other as she softly calls out her order.

As she waits, Rey is lost in her thoughts. She stares into nothingness, taps her fingers against the table top. The minutes tick by slowly, but she isn’t counting. All she’s excited for is stuffing her face full, because she _deserves_ it after this mess of a day.

The door swings open behind them, letting a cool breeze blow in. Rey doesn’t pay the new customer any attention… until they walk up to the counter and sit on the stool near her. Only one chair separates them.

Professor Ren blinks at her, tilts his head in a silent greeting.

“Professor,” she says, breathless. “You’re back.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes do soften at the edges.

“They serve good food. But you’re back too.”

“What can I say? I can’t resist good food.”

“Noodles with pork dumplings,” he calls out to the chef. He then turns his head back to Rey. “Are you all right? From this afternoon, I mean.”

Rey sighs and slumps forward. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m _fine_. He didn’t even graze me. There have been worse customers, let me tell you.”

Professor Ren offers a sympathetic wince. “Customer service is tough.”

“It’s the _worst_.”

“But you were strong,” he says, voice tight and controlled. Quiet. Rey looks at him curiously. “You stood your ground and didn’t let him walk all over you. You outmanoeuvred him.”

“You make me sound smarter than I really am.” Rey laughs.

“It takes a certain skill,” Professor Ren only continues. “To stay calm enough when you want to lash out and do the complete opposite.”

They’re both quiet. Rey doesn’t know what to say.

The chef sets her plate down in front of her. She picks up a pair of chopsticks, snaps them in half, and then idly digs through her lo mien. She pops a pod of peas into her mouth and then chews slowly.

“You were going to defend me, weren’t you?” she asks, voice low. She doesn’t look at him; she only stares down at her plate. “You didn’t have to. You really didn’t. But thank you for trying to.”

She sees Professor Ren scratch his head from the corner of her eye. He doesn’t look at her either.

“In hindsight, I don’t know if it would have helped. I just hated seeing him attack the two of you just for a free drink,” he replies.

Rey snickers. “All for a caramel macchiato, right? No taste.”

Professor Ren chuckles with her.

When the chef sets his bowl in front of him, Rey is instantly overwhelmed by the smell. She’s only halfway through her plate—she’d ordered a larger one this time—but she peeks at him. Professor Ren catches her staring right as he’s bitten into a dumpling.

“Is that good?” she asks. He nods once, still chewing.

“Want to try it?”

Rey freezes. She really does want to, and she’s never one to turn down free food, but it hits her, how strange this really is—that she’s having dinner with her Romantic Poetry professor, the same man who makes students cry and runs away brooding before anyone can ask him any more questions.

But his expression is calm, serene, open. The way it always is with her. He pushes the bowl closer towards her, three more whole dumplings bobbing on the surface. Rey tilts her head and considers it for a single moment.

“Can I sit closer?” she asks.

“Of course.”

She moves her plate and changes to the seat next to his. Their elbows almost brush together when she adjusts her stool. She grabs a pork dumpling with her chopsticks and then takes a large bite, letting out a hum of contentment as the flavor bursts in her mouth.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he asks, confirming. Rey nods.

“This isn’t like the ones I’ve had before. I can’t believe it.”

The chef throws them a passing smile. Rey grins even as she chews.

“The best dumplings I’ve ever tasted were in Hong Kong,” Professor Ren explains. “But this comes close.”

“You were in Hong Kong?” Rey asks, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His glasses glint under the fluorescents.

“Yes, for a conference. I gave a talk on the death of the self in Romantic poetry.”

“Hmm, morbid.”

His eyes are bright. “It’s fascinating. Besides, the death of the self isn’t always portrayed as a bad thing. It’s just the natural order of things. Part of the circle of life.”

“Death is always either so weirdly idealized,” she murmurs, stabbing a chopstick through a slice of pork. “Or rejected completely. There’s no in between.”

“But doesn’t accepting death as a normal part of life count as an in-between?”

“I don’t know.” She shoves the noodles into her mouth. Professor Ren does the same. “There’s still bitterness, isn’t there? Or the grief. In the end, the acceptance is just resignation. It will never leave you, so you have to accept it for your own sake. I don’t think people can ever _truly_ let go.”

They eat in silence.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Rey?” Professor Ren suddenly asks. He swirls the leftover broth in his bowl with a single spoon. Rey pushes her empty plate away. Something chimes in her chest at his mention of her name. The way he says it—perfectly at home in his mouth. She smiles a bit, glad that he’s finally using it.

“No, I don’t. Do you?” she asks and turns her head to him. He meets her gaze.

“I think they’re as real as we make them out to be,” he only replies.

“What does that mean, Professor?”

At the mention of his title, his gaze slides down to his hands. He stares at his palms on the tabletop. Rey stares too, but she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to be seeing.

He squeezes his hands together.

“It means… that sometimes other people haunt you. But sometimes, the only things that haunt us are ourselves.”

Rey blinks in response.

“You’re still so young,” he murmurs. “If you don’t understand, then I’ll be glad—“

“I think,” Rey swallows, her voice falling into a hushed whisper. She leans closer to him; not close enough to touch, but close enough that she can feel the heat emanating from his skin. “I understand what you mean.”

“Do you?” His voice isn’t accusing. Just soft. A mere question.

_What happened? Who did you lose?_

Her earliest memory is a car driving far, far away. Plutt’s grip on her tiny arm is strong, almost painful. She isn’t old enough to know the word yet, but the meaning already settles bitterly into her ribcage.

_Abandoned._

Inside of her, buried underneath a heavy fortress, is that same scared little girl who keeps waiting, waiting, waiting.

For what?

“Rey, are you all right?”

She blinks and the world materializes in front of her again… alongside a concerned Professor Ren. His brows are furrowed, and his glasses have slid down his nose. She wants to adjust them for him.

Now where did that thought come from?

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” she replies. “Sorry, I just zoned out for a bit there.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he adds. “I was just talking to myself.”

“And I was agreeing with you,” she counters, voice rising and coming back to life.

“How rare,” he teases.

“Yeah, you better watch out. Pigs’ll start flying next.”

He snorts.

The old man beside them orders a drink. The chef comes to him with a small bottle of beer and an extra glass of ice in his hand. Rey and Professor Ren watch their exchange, silent except for the sound of Rey’s sneaker tapping against the leg of her chair.

It seems that the rest of the shop has fallen into the same hushed silence. Rey wants to break it.

“I just realized,” Rey comments lightly. She tries her hardest not to stare at the man beside her, so she gazes at the beer bottle’s cap instead. It shines in the distance, reflecting the glint of the light directly above it. The old man pours the amber liquid into his glass, splashing some of it in the process. “You didn’t bring your notebook today.”

Professor Ren hums. “I decided to take a break.”

“From writing?”

He nods.

“Poetry?”

His lips quirk upwards. “As of now, that’s a secret.”

“Oh, who am I going to tell?” she asks brightly.

“Maybe you should try it too, someday.”

Rey blinks. “Me? Writing _poetry_?”

Professor Ren huffs in an almost laugh. “It doesn’t have to be poetry. You could try prose. Or keep a journal. Trust me, it helps in more ways than you can imagine. Sometimes all you can do is list down your thoughts, and that’s good enough. If you tried it, I know it would be interesting.”

Rey wrinkles her nose. She crosses her arms on the countertop. “That sounds more embarrassing than anything else.”

“It’s just a suggestion.”

“But why did you suggest it in the first place?” she asks, tilting her head to look up at him from underneath her lashes. Professor Ren draws a hand through his hair, and she follows the movement with her eyes—the rising and curving of his arm, the shape of his fingers disappearing through his thick hair. He sits back gracefully, elbow leaning against the countertop as he swivels to face her.

“Do you remember that writing assignment I gave all of you on the first day?” he asks. Rey resists the urge to groan.

“Yes.”

“Yours was fascinating,” he says simply. “You could make it in this field, if you really wanted to. If you really tried.”

They’re both silent. Rey tugs at her sleeves. Professor Ren looks away, and she’s half-grateful that his intense gaze is no longer on hers. Her stomach bubbles with a strange concoction of half-excitement and half-nervousness; she could never really handle compliments, but coming from _him_ makes them even worse.

And at the same time, she peeks up at him shyly, unable to look away.

“I don’t write much,” she says.

“It just takes practice.”

“I’ve never written for fun before.”

“Many writers only start getting into it as adults.”

“I don’t know much about poetry.”

At this, Professor Ren smiles. It’s small and slow, burning at the edges of his mouth. His eyes wrinkle at the sides, and Rey is temporarily blown away by his quiet smile. Seeing it this close, she thinks, is a privilege.

“But you have the heart of a poet,” he concludes. The words are so silly that a laugh threatens to bubble out of Rey’s mouth, but she can’t really laugh—all she can do is stare back at him with wide eyes as the warmth spreads through her skin.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Nobody’s ever…”

“You never considered it.”

“No, of course not.” She rests her chin on her fist. “I don’t _read_ poetry.”

“You don’t have to choose poetry.” He pauses. “But you have a unique written voice. It would be a shame if it went to waste.”

Again, she doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know how to. All the words that float into her head seem shallow, incomplete, ungrateful. None of them are enough. None of them are suitable. So she says nothing instead, and she hopes that her silence is more acknowledging than uncomfortable.

As she sits there without a word, Professor Ren finally turns back to his bowl. He lifts his glass and downs it in one go. Rey watches him, watches the bob of his throat as he swallows—and then she looks away immediately.

“I have to go,” he says, bringing out his wallet. He throws a bill onto the counter. Rey blinks and watches him stand.

“Oh." Her head follows his movements. "See you in class, Professor.”

He nods at her once. “See you in class.”

And then he walks away, his strides wide. He crosses the restaurant floor in ten seconds, and Rey watches the shape of his back as he leaves. As soon as the door closes behind him Rey is hit with the stillness, with the fact of her heart in her throat.

She releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

She remembers his poem, and she wonders just how long he’s been haunted by ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: do you think it's too unrealistic for someone to demand a drink they didn't pay for?  
> Friend with experience: nah, it happens all the time
> 
> Alternatively:  
> Kylo: YOU NEED A TEACHER!!
> 
> Got this chapter out early so it would be off my hands now. We needed a _tiny_ bit of drama to propel the plot forward, but that's going to be a usual thing now ;)
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting so far! You guys make this fic much more meaningful with your opinions, analyses, and insights. They're all so fun to read, and they inspire me lots. You guys are the best, and I can't believe you're enjoying this self-indulgent ride with me <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A consultation.

They don’t see each other outside of class for a week.

There’s a strange disappointment inside of her when she doesn’t catch Professor Ren sitting at the café. Of course, it’s not like she’s _actively_ looking; she’s only barely craning her neck, only giving the seats a sweeping glance (per protocol) and glancing at the door when the bell rings. She doesn’t need another distraction.

Even she’s too busy to bother pondering over him. Really. At night she slumps over her desk, face buried in her notes for Fluid Dynamics and Numerical Computation. She sits on the floor of her room, a mess of papers and tools and spare electronic parts surrounding her. She carefully builds a scale model while listening to poetry readings on Youtube; they’re for the pieces that Professor Ren assigned.

With the instability of her electric circuit, Rey bites her lip and scowls, wanting to yank out wires with her bare hands. The narrator’s voice is deep and soothing, words lilting like din instead of registering in her brain. She sighs and sits back, leans against the foot of her bed, and stares at her half-finished project. It stares back, and the exhaustion wells up within her.

 _“We look before and after,_  
_And pine for what is not:_  
_Our sincerest laughter_  
_With some pain is fraught;_  
_Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought—“_

She hits pause on her laptop so hard that the key screams in protest. The voice is cut off, and her room is quiet once more. But if she strains her ears, she can hear the rush of water. Her neighbour must be in the bathroom.

It pains her to hear this same dull voice over and over. For a moment, Rey imagined it to be Professor Ren’s, and it was like she was transported back into that classroom: a sliver of sunlight shining through the windows, the sleepy quiet, the hushed breaths, the rare case of a page turning carefully, and most of all, Professor Ren with his head bowed down low as he read from a book in his large hands, that voice booming through the room, reverberating through her every breath.

But that voice isn’t his, not at all. She hates it, suddenly, and can’t _take_ it. It must be the stress, or the anxiety, or the fact that she’s only halfway through her notes for tomorrow’s exam. But for one moment she only has one single, desperate yearning: to talk to him again.

It’s dumb, it really is. But she’s running on barely four hours of sleep, and the night remains long.

She pulls the laptop onto her knees and opens her university email account. For a moment, she stills, wondering if she should really do this.

The cursor blinks back at her silently.

And then, in a fit of bravery, she types out a message, only proofreading it once before hitting send.

_Message sent._

As soon as the words appear onscreen, Rey sighs and tilts her head back until it hits the soft edge of the mattress. She groans and screws her eyes shut.

A tiny part of her wishes that he won’t reply.

 

Strangely enough, that following morning she wakes to the sun slicing through the blinds and piercing her eyes. She’s curled up on the floor—her model thankfully completed beside her—and so she winces as she gets up. The clock says eight twenty-five so she isn’t too late yet.

Rey stretches, her joints cracking at an angle. Her mouth is filled with cotton, and her t-shirt is all crumpled from sleeping on the floor. She grimaces and lightly drags her finger across her laptop’s trackpad, just to check if the battery had died overnight. Instead, it glows back to life, and the tab of her email refreshes.

She’s got one new message.

_Miss Kenobi,_

_Of course. You can drop by my office beside the English Department anytime from three to five PM today. I suggest you bring any references that you’ll need._

_Kylo Ren, MA_  
_English Department, Specialization in Poetry_  
_University of Coruscant_

She scrolls up to glance at the message she’d sent last night. She winces, but it isn’t as bad as she remembers. The only problem, of course, is that she doesn’t know what to ask.

But today she’s only got one class, and she has enough time to think of a good reason for dropping by.

 

 

True to his word, Professor Ren _does_ have an office. It’s tiny and old and just past the English Department, nestled within the hallway’s furthest corner, but it does exist. She passed it twice before realizing it was there, and if it weren’t for the small print-out of his name on the door she wouldn’t have even bothered to check it.

As soon as she knocks, his voice calls out from inside. It’s slightly muffled by the walls.

“Come in,” he says.

She enters it slowly, shyly, pokes her head in before completely stepping inside. The room is just as small as it seems from the outside; it’s more of a storage closet, really, and with the collection of shelves bursting with books and a gigantic desk that takes up the rest of the space, it makes her feel almost claustrophobic.

But Professor Ren looks up at her, his glasses perched on his nose. The surface of his desk is clean, just as streamlined and stark as the dark wood of his furniture. He nods at her, pushes away a book he’d been reading until it aligns perfectly with a stack of paper.

“Good afternoon, Miss Kenobi,” he greets. Rey greets him back. She moves to close the door, but he shakes his head.

“Keep it open, please.”

She does, blinking in confusion but following his command. He offers her a seat and she takes it, gingerly sitting on the edge as they look at each other for a few awkward seconds.

“I didn’t know you had an office,” she says. Professor Ren huffs.

“Finally, the tenure and all those awards were worth something.”

His voice is so flat that Rey can’t resist a laugh. He settles back into his chair, relaxing slightly, watching her a bit longer as she smiles. But he does speak up eventually, and Rey grips the edge of her seat with both hands.

“You had a question,” he states. “I assume it’s about your term paper?”

“Not—not really,” Rey replies, stuttering. He looks at her patiently, waiting for her to expound. Rey swallows, thinking of what to say so that she doesn’t exactly lie, but so that she doesn’t reveal everything either. “I mean, _sort of_. I just remembered what you said before. You’ve given a lecture about the death of the self in Romantic poetry. So I was wondering… if you could suggest some references to me about… the melancholy of the Romantics.”

He raises a brow.

“Melancholy of the Romantics? Is that what you’re planning to write about?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answers weakly. “It’s not that I haven’t started…” She hasn’t. “It’s just that I want to explore my topics a bit more until I find one that I’ll really enjoy.”

He hums. It hits Rey just how quiet this room is—that even with the door slightly open, no other noises filter inside. She holds her breath as he thinks, his eyes scanning the books on the shelf to his right.

“It’s always better to write about something that you’ll enjoy,” he murmurs. “Or at the very least, write about something that you _won’t_ hate. Were there any poems in our course that you really liked, Miss Kenobi?”

She squirms. There it is again: that “Miss Kenobi”. She supposes this does count as business, even if they’re outside of class hours. And a lone stranger could chance upon their consultation, eavesdrop just outside the door, and they would definitely wonder what a moody Professor Ren was doing calling his student by her first name.

She’s never heard him do that to any other student before.

“They were all fine,” she replies. “I guess. Um, but none of them fit the mood that I was looking for. I just… With such tragic lives, I expected more _darkness_ , I guess.”

Professor Ren smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He finally looks at her, and Rey sits with her back straight. The revelation hits her: they’ve never been alone in a room before. They’ve never been alone in such close quarters before.

She swallows.

“And you’ve begun to like the darkness?” he asks, almost teasing. Rey’s mouth falls open but no words come out. Words run through her brain; she searches for a good comeback but can’t find any.

“I didn’t…” She trails off, and then faces him head on. “It’s intriguing, that’s all.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, eyes not straying from hers. Finally, he looks away, and Rey feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Professor Ren’s gaze is heavy, even heavier in the smallness of this room.

He stands and heads for the shelf on Rey’s right. She watches him look through the books, and then he finally pulls one out by its spine. The book is rectangular and black, hardbound, and when Professor Ren flips through it Rey can hear the crispness of the pages.

“You know they’ve got tragic lives,” Professor Ren says, still not looking at her. The book is tiny in his hands. “So can you name a poet that you want to focus on? Or a few poems of the same theme that you find striking?”

Rey shrugs, suddenly feeling quite small.

“There are so many,” she murmurs. “I can’t… decide.”

Professor Ren looks at her. “Rey,” he says softly. “Is this really about your term paper?”

“What?” she splutters. “Of-of course it—“

“Because if you were just curious about my lecture, then I’d be more than happy to help you,” he finishes. The smirk on his lips turns friendly and charming, and Rey shuts her mouth. “There’s no shame in gaining an interest in poetry. In fact, I’m _proud_ of you.”

“What if I really just needed help with my paper?” she asks, pouting. Professor Ren’s grin is too mischievous for this.

“Then I’d have to tell you to go to the library yourself.”

Rey grumbles.

“I’m not giving out topics for you to write,” he adds. “That’s for _you_ to decide. But if you just wanted to learn more about poetry for poetry’s sake, then of course I’d help you. So tell me, what are you interested in learning?”

Rey stares back at him. She feels naked, transparent, but at the same time _freer_. Professor Ren’s eyes twinkle playfully, and her gaze slides onto the book in his hands. She can’t read the title from where she’s sitting.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “How about what you said before? Death and Romantic poetry.”

“I thought you found it morbid.”

“It’s better than waxing lyrical about some girl’s pretty face.”

The huff that erupts out of his mouth must be a laugh. “I have one just for you.”

“What is it?” she asks, glancing up at him. Rey leans against the armrest of her chair, her body tilted in Professor Ren’s direction. He walks towards his desk, movements graceful, and Rey faces him as he approaches.

Professor Ren rolls his shoulders back as he holds the hardbound book in his hands. His eyes flutter half-shut as he reads, and Rey leans forward, hoping to capture every noise out of his mouth. He barely even shifts on his feet; he’s as still as a statue as his low voice fills the hushed room.

 _“I watched thee when the foe was at our side,_  
_Ready to strike at him—or thee and me,_  
_Were safety hopeless—rather than divide_  
_Aught with one loved save love and liberty._

 _“I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock,_  
_Received our prow, and all was storm and fear,_  
_And bade thee cling to me through every shock;_  
_This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier._

 _“I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,_  
_Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground_  
_When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise_  
_From thence if thou an early grave hadst found.”_

His voice is low, serious, but his words dance. Rey’s mouth falls slightly open in rapture as she listens to every line. Professor Ren leans his hip against his desk, and Rey is struck by the shine of the fluorescent lamps against the blackness of his hair.

He looks like a figure out of Greek mythology: white marble carved into living flesh, the air suspended like dust in a gallery, and his piercing gaze just as ancient and distant from her as statues would be.

But he doesn’t stop, and she continues to listen.

 _“The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,_  
_And men and nature reeled as if with wine._  
_Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?_  
_For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine._

 _“And when convulsive throes denied my breath_  
_The faintest utterance to my fading thought,_  
_To thee—to thee—e’en in the gasp of death_  
_My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.”_

His mouth curves into a perfect _o_. For a moment, his face softens, but his voice does not falter. Rey catches the exact expression he makes and commits it to memory. 

 _“Thus much and more; and yet thou lov’st me not,_  
_And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will._  
_Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot_  
_To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.”_

Finally, he stops. Rey exhales silently, hoping not to disturb the air around them. Professor Ren swallows and then looks up. When he meets Rey’s gaze, she stares back at him wide-eyed.

“Well?” he asks, voice slightly hoarse. “How did you like that?”

“I,” she says. It comes out breathless. “That was… beautiful. And tragic. Who was that about?”

Professor Ren’s lips curve into a bitter smile. He shuts the book in his hands without looking away from her.

“’Love and Death’: Lord Byron’s final poem before he died,” he says in that familiar tone she hears in the classroom. Quiet but controlled, powerful. “Addressed to Lukas Chalandritsanos, his fifteen-year-old page who accompanied him until the end. It was unrequited love, of course, and the boy only really cared about his money. Still, Byron was _mad_ about him, and only a man madly in love could write something as beautiful as that.”

They’re both silent. Professor Ren opens the book again and looks down at the words, traces the ink of the text with his fingers. Rey reaches forward to tug at the edge of his desk, but she doesn’t dare to bridge the gap between them.

“I wish you’d put more poems like that into the course,” she comments.

Professor Ren chuckles again. It’s dark and deep and Rey can’t help but smile, even when she’d rather be pouting at him. Is he laughing at her? He must be.

“I teach an introduction course, so I’m required to follow the Department’s syllabus.”

“Oh. Shame… What else is in that book?” she asks instead, peeking into it. Professor Ren sets it down on the table and slides it towards her. Rey stares at it hungrily, curious to read the words that are set starkly against the white paper.

“It’s an anthology,” he says. His fingers are large against the pages, and Rey watches him flip through the book for her, even if it’s upside-down. “There’s another one by Shelley that I personally enjoy.”

He finds the right page but doesn’t read it out loud. Rey looks:

 _Art thou pale for weariness_  
_Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,_  
_Wandering companionless_  
_Among the stars that have a different birth,_  
_And ever changing, like a joyless eye_  
_That finds no object worth its constancy?_

And then, when she finishes the poem with a weak breath, she looks up at him. Professor Ren stands on the other side of the desk, but his gaze is too strong, too intense, even behind his glasses. Rey wishes that she could ask him a personal question, but the words can’t even form in her brain, much less in her mouth. So she swallows the urge down instead, and she blinks her lashes up at him, murmuring in her soft voice:

“Professor—“

But then the bell rings loudly, slicing through her thoughts. Rey jumps in her seat a little. Professor Ren looks nonplussed, but he does slide away from the table. He leaves the book in her hands.

“Apologies, Miss Kenobi,” he tells her. “But it’s time. I’ve got another class to go to.”

“O-Oh, that’s fine. Sorry. Thank you for your help today, Professor.”

She stands, her hands gripping the straps of her bag out of want for something to do. Professor Ren gestures to the book on the table.

“I can lend you that book, if you like. I suggest you read it. Whether or not it would help you on your paper, I think it would be a good way for you to find something that really speaks to you.”

His voice is serious again. Didactic. Rey shakes her head.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“You liked the poems, didn’t you? They’re always much better when read a second or a third time. You don’t have to return it until the end of the semester, when you’ve passed your term paper. I promise.”

“I don’t need…” She trails off at Professor Ren’s insistent brow. He slings his satchel over his shoulder and then picks up the book before handing it personally to her. Rey stares at it.

“It would do more good in your hands than if it was just gathering dust here.”

She finally takes it slowly. With both hands. Without looking away from him.

“Thank you,” she says. She hugs the book to her chest. It’s small and solid and strangely comforting in her arms. “I’ll take good care of it.”

Professor Ren’s eyes crinkle in a silent smile. “I hope so.”

Rey turns around then. Before she reaches the door—which still lies slightly ajar—she spins back to him, the words already falling out of her mouth before she can think. Professor Ren only stares at her.

“Can I come back here again?” she asks him. “At the same time on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Not _all_ Tuesdays and Thursdays, but maybe once a week? Sometimes?”

He nods.

“Of course. You’re always welcome here, Miss Kenobi.”

Even using her surname, she catches the way his voice dips softly at the end of his sentence. Rey smiles, thin-lipped, and offers a tiny wave.

“All right, thank you. See you around, Professor.”

“Have a good holiday break.”

“You too.”

She nods with a smile and then steps outside. The book is still in her arms—she carries it like that all the way back to her dorm, as if it’s something precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[To a Skylark](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45146/to-a-skylark)  
> -[Love and Death](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49266/love-and-death)  
> -[Art Thou Pale for Weariness](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45115/art-thou-pale-for-weariness)
> 
> By the way, I made a [Kylo Ren (with hints of Reylo) playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/user/frankiensteins/playlist/7qMTb6KDdACb6HFZCVIhCS?si=S1uZ57McQOu_lbIoulaU6A). It'll be more relevant for the next chapter (which I'm super excited about eheheh)
> 
> May the Fourth be with you! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shelter from the rain.

“You really should go with us.”

Finn’s voice crackles through the phone pressed to Rey’s ear. She frowns, walking as she speaks. The autumn leaves scatter and crunch beneath her feet, and she kicks some away with her sneakers.

“I said I’m better off _here_. I’ll be fine, Finn.”

“Are you sure? It’s not too late to book another ticket. Poe can drive me back there and we can pick you up—“

“Can’t. I’ve got one last shift,” Rey lies smoothly. She plasters a smile onto her face, even when there’s nobody else to see it. She hopes that Finn can hear it, though. “We already said goodbye this morning, remember? Are you missing me already?”

Finn grumbles into the receiver.

“I said I’m _fine_. You don’t have to get me anything. Just have fun there and text me, okay?”

“Poe’s parents won’t mind. Really.”

“But I do. You should enjoy the week with him and his family. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help but worry, Rey.”

Rey groans. “I’m an adult, in case you’ve forgotten. I’ll be fine and I won’t burn the apartment down. I promise.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Everyone else has gone home too, so you’ll be—“

“Whoops, signal is getting weak. Go have fun and cuddle with your boyfriend or something. Talk to you later, bye!”

She ends the call before Finn can even protest. Rey huffs and shoves her phone into her pocket, hoping that he won’t call her back. A strong wind picks up, and she tugs her hoodie higher up to shield her neck. The streets grow empty with the rush of incoming clouds and with the start of break. Rey only soldiers on, mildly irritated by everyone’s insistence on her joining them.

_I’ve always been alone. It’s no big deal._

She walks home, mind brewing with thoughts.

 

It’s when Rey is halfway home that a downpour begins.

At first it had been a light drizzle, and so she’d pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and continued walking, her hands in her pockets. But barely five minutes later, the drizzle turned into harsh rain, and water pelted every inch of the road. She’d been soaked completely.

So now she grits her teeth and walks straight on.

Running would be useless, and she’d probably slip. So she bows her head down low and counts down the agonizing minutes, cursing herself for not bothering to take an umbrella. The streets have emptied out with the holiday break, and with the wide stretch of field and closed buildings she can’t exactly take shelter anywhere else.

Besides, all she wants is to get home and take a long, hot bath. And then go to bed.

It’s going to be a long week.

The rain roars in her ears, and the water droplets are almost painful against the few inches of her exposed skin. Something bright obscures the edge of her vision, and it’s only when she turns her head that she realizes a car has slowly pulled up beside her.

She’s about to hurry along, but it beeps once more. The noise is drowned out by the rain. At that moment, the driver’s window rolls down, and it reveals Professor Ren’s concerned face.

She blinks at him.

“Rey!” he yells out. Twice, so that she can hear him. His voice has to fight the strength of the storm. “Get in!”

Rey’s mouth falls open. She’s about to protest. She shifts on her feet. He only shakes his head, brows pinched, as he yells at her to get in once more.

It takes her an agonizingly long time before she decides to follow. He yells out to her _again_ , and then she finally moves, rushes to the passenger seat of his black BMW and shuffles inside.

She opens the door and throws herself onto the dry, leather seat. For a moment she cringes, realizing that she’s getting rainwater all over his expensive car seats, but the heater is set up high and already doing wonders for her shivering. The water is heavy and cold, making her clothes stick to her like a second skin. As soon as she shuts the door, there is silence—the sound of rain is cut off so abruptly that it feels like a plug being pulled.

And then she slowly turns her head to meet Professor Ren’s gaze. He frowns at her, that gaze assessing. She’s instinctively aware of her soaked clothes, of her usually shapeless hoodie clinging to her just as her shirt underneath does, so she hugs herself tightly and curls up into a small ball, her side pressed against the door. But Professor Ren doesn’t stare at her body, doesn’t even look at anything besides her face and her hair—most of it fallen out of her bun, now.

They’re silent for a few moments. The music from his radio is turned down low, and the drumbeat on the stereo matches her own heart.

“You’re going to get sick,” is all he says.

“I forgot my umbrella,” she explains plainly. He sighs.

“Why are you still here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be home?”

“I was on the way,” Rey sniffs. She leans against the backrest, her shoulders high as she hugs her own chest. She feels like a small animal, or maybe a small child, and she wishes that for _once_ Professor Ren would be silent and just drive her home. If he won’t, then she’ll thank him for this break from the rain, and then get down and continue the rest of her journey by herself.

Professor Ren shakes his head. One of his hands is still on the steering wheel. She stares at it instead of meeting his eyes when he makes his next statement.

“I meant,” he says. “With your family.”

Rey is silent. She squeezes her own arm, and the water soaked up by her sleeve is wrung out. Droplets drip down the length of the backrest. She continues to stare at Professor Ren’s hand, notes the way his fingers grip the wheel. She schools her face into a blank expression, and takes in a deep breath to disguise her trembling voice with one of irritation.

“I don’t have a family,” she murmurs. Professor Ren doesn’t reply, and she’s too afraid to look at him and see what expression he’s making. She adds, “I usually spend the holidays with Finn, my roommate, but he’s flying out with his boyfriend to visit the boyfriend’s parents. Rose and Paige went home too.”

She looks up. The windshield wipers turn back and forth, back and forth, sliding in an endless dance. The noise is hypnotic in the space between them. Professor Ren is gripping the steering wheel harder now.

“I see,” he says after a moment, his voice clipped. Rey looks up at him. “I’m driving you home then.”

She nods gratefully. He doesn’t offer any words of consolation, doesn’t offer any apologies. Those irritate Rey the most. Instead, he’s quiet and blunt just as he always is. The silence between them stretches onwards like a warm cocoon, and Rey only dares to break it because she’s afraid of what might bloom.

“I live in that apartment complex behind Calamari’s,” she says.

“Got it.”

Professor Ren begins driving, and Rey is lulled by the warmth of the heater and the faint noise of the rain outside. They move slowly, carefully in the downpour, and Rey leans her head against the window, idly watches the rain-drenched scenery as it goes by.

“I’m sorry I got your seats wet,” she murmurs.

“It’s fine. Don’t apologize,” he replies, voice just as soft.

 _Too soft_ , as if he’s speaking for something else.

At the end of the street, they pause at a stoplight. The red light is angry and visible even through the water-speckled windshield. Professor Ren reaches for the radio and turns the dials. Music crackles through his speakers.

 _I’m a house on fire and everyone is leaving_. Switch. _But half of me is half of you_. Switch. _Senator Organa-Solo demands vote on—_

Switch.

The next station is nothing but prickling static. Professor Ren hits a button, and then it fades into dull radio silence. Rey watches the numbers on the stoplight as they get lower and lower.

“Were you going to spend the holidays alone?” he asks. Rey freezes up, her body growing stiff. She glances at him, but he doesn’t look her way. His hands are stuck on the steering wheel, and his gaze is strictly glued on the windshield. When he blinks, she catches the shape of his lashes barely grazing the lens of his glasses.

She swallows. “…Yes.”

Professor Ren nods. He finally turns his head to look at her, those eyes dark in the limited lighting of the car interior. The expression he makes is so oddly familiar that Rey’s breath catches in her throat. There’s a memory here, she thinks. It’s in the classroom with its sleepy glow of sunlight, a page turning in the wind, and Professor Ren meeting her gaze for one intimate, eternal second—

She hears him speak before she even realizes his lips have moved.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was going to spend them alone too,” he tells her in a whisper. It feels like a confession, and Rey pauses, wonders what there is to say. Instead, she stops hugging herself, and she uncurls her fingers on her knees.

“Oh,” she breathes.

The stoplight turns green before she can spew out another word. The car lurches forward, and the spell is broken.

“Wear your seatbelt,” he says offhandedly, as if he hadn’t mentioned anything about himself at all. Rey huffs and then buckles herself in. It shuts with a metallic clink.

Her apartment isn’t much farther. Cars trawl by the main avenue, cautious in the hard rain. But none of them are staying; they’re all just leaving to go to other places far away. Rey stares at them out the window, calm and quiet. The rain has lessened in intensity, but it remains heavy.

She turns back to Professor Ren when she hears him speak. His voice is conversational once more.

“Are you going anywhere for the break?” he asks.

“No. I’ve still got stuff to do, but the café will be closed for three days, so I’ll just be around here then.”

“I see.” He tilts his head towards hers slightly.

“It’s a pain, though. I wish more take-out places would be open.”

“Take-out?”

Rey shuts her mouth and _almost_ slides down the seat. She doesn’t, of course. That would just implicate her further.

He already knows that she’s spending the holidays alone. He doesn’t have to know how pathetic it will be—how it’s all she’s been used to.

She clears her throat, trying to salvage his opinion of her.

“I can’t cook,” she explains hastily.

“Oh.” Professor Ren’s voice is small. “But, ah, I can.”

Rey raises a brow and looks at him.

“I can cook. I’ve been cooking ever since I started living on my own. It really helps, not just with the expenses but with lessening the junk that goes into your body too. Do you know how much garbage they put in instant food? I was thinking of making steak sometime this week, because I haven’t had that in a while. Steak and salad and baked potatoes, because you need a balanced diet, and I’m getting too old to ignore that—“

He’s babbling on and on, his mouth running a mile a minute as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Rey only stares up at him, and is that just her imagining the way his cheeks glow light pink?

“But in hindsight, it would be too much food for just one person,” he finishes. He finally glances at her… and then immediately looks away. The road is empty now, and he’s driving agonizingly slow for no reason. She watches him lick his lips nervously.

“But it would be enough for two?” she asks tentatively. The car slows to a stop as they reach an empty pedestrian lane. Her apartment complex is just one block away, but she’s glad that he’s stopped. There’s nobody to hit even in this storm, on this sleepy Sunday afternoon, but his distraction makes _her_ nervous. She grips the fabric of her sleeve.

“More than enough,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes. “But even when they say two is company—“

“Are you asking me to dinner?” Rey asks, accidentally interrupting. She can’t help it. Professor Ren visibly flinches, his large body folding in and retreating into himself. She instantly hates herself for her sharp tone, so she softens and then scoots a little closer to him. But not too close, of course not. She lays a hand on the edge of her seat—the edge in his direction.

“It could be lunch,” he says, swallowing. Rey is instantly fascinated by the nervous bob of his throat. “Or… or, we could wait until Wednesday, when the shops would be open again. We could go out to a nice restaurant. Not _fancy_ , but something casual and family-friendly and good. A place that serves good food. My treat.”

Rey stares back. She can never deny free food, but coming from him—from Professor Ren—she can’t help but stare. He stares back, those black doe eyes blinking behind his glasses. She opens her mouth… and then sneezes.

_“Achoo!”_

Professor Ren instantly reaches to her side and tugs down the glove compartment. Rey covers her face and sniffles, wipes her nose with a dull groan. He leans towards her, slightly impeded by the seat belt, but his arms are long enough to remove the tissue box from the glove compartment and offer her one. She takes it gratefully, blows her nose and then shyly tucks the crumpled tissue into her soggy hoodie pocket.

He’s frowning at her again. Rey shrugs.

“You need to dry yourself off as soon as possible,” he says, and then shifts the gears to move forward. They’re about to turn into her street when Rey finally speaks up.

“I would love to,” she says loudly, voice slightly nasal. “I’d like to, um, have dinner with you. Or lunch. It’ll be like at the noodle shop.”

She sees the way his shoulders relax. His lips curl up into the bare shape of a smile.

“Yes, yes, exactly.”

She doesn’t respond, because it seems like he’s convincing himself more than anything else.

They reach her street, and Professor Ren pulls up into the curb in front of her apartment. He stares out the window, but she’s sure that he isn’t looking at anything at all. His eyes are reflected in the glass.

“Don’t get me wrong, Rey,” he says suddenly. “But I know what it’s like to spend the holidays alone and—“

“Don’t,” she cuts in. He looks at her, eyes blinking in surprise. Even Rey surprises herself. “Please, don’t. Because I’m used to it. I’ve always been used to it. But then I went to college and I met Finn and Rose, and it was a nice break from the usual. But this _is_ the norm for me, so please, Professor, if you’re just doing this out of pity—“

His brows are furrowed together. “I’m not doing this out of pity.”

“ _Good_ ,” she says clearly. She sniffs again. “Because I appreciate it. It would be nice to have dinner with a friend over the holidays. Not because I don’t want to be _alone_ , because I’m _used_ to that. It doesn’t bother me. It would be nice because I like spending time with y—with the person I’m having dinner with.”

She did it. She called him a friend. Professor Ren’s jaw goes slack, and she suddenly notes how much he’s turned towards her. He nods once, almost apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he explains. “I never implied that. But you’re right. I only offered because… why not? I’m sure we’d have a pleasant time if we actually planned it for once, instead of only relying on chance and fate.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smirk. It’s not a smile, but it _suits_ him. It suits him just like his hair: curls that bounce off his head, long and dark, voluminous in the humidity. Rey thinks of how he always dresses in the classroom, how he always looks so put together… and how different that is from when she catches him outside, how he is right now.

His top button is undone and his collar is slightly askew. The imperfections are jarring, but it only makes her realize how _real_ the man in front of her is.

Strangely, she wants to reach out and touch him.

Luckily, she knows better than to bother trying. She grips the hem of her jacket in her fists.

He turns away. Rey wishes he didn’t, because now she can only see the side profile of his face.

“Professor Ren,” she calls out weakly. He looks at her again with all his attention, and a strange, dark thing inside of Rey coils contentedly in her belly.

“Kylo,” he says. Rey tilts her head in confusion. He offers another microscopically small smile. “You can call me Kylo outside of class. It’s my name.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice small. She tests out the shape of his name. “Kylo.”

It feels wonderfully fluid on her tongue: sharp and crisp and dark, as beautifully mysterious as its owner. The word is small but powerful, and in this car with only the two of them inside, with the rain pattering on outside their windows, it feels like something warm and intimate in her hands.

His eyes brighten at the mention of his name.

Rey’s heart pounds so strongly that she almost forgets how to breathe.

“I should give you my number,” she says instead, powering through the jackhammer in her ribcage. She fishes out her phone from her pocket, and is glad to see that it remains mostly dry. At least it flickers back to life when she clicks the power button. “So we can plan this out. Um, this is mine…“

Professor Ren—no, _Kylo_ —stares at her blankly. For a moment, she thinks he’s about to protest, but then he must realize the practicality so he only nods and then pats down his own pockets. He brings out his phone and hands it to her. They swap numbers. Rey tries not to burn bright red as she holds his phone in her hands, inputting her number.

When they finish, Kylo shoves his phone back into his pocket, not even glancing at it. Rey looks up at him. She bites her lip, wondering what else there is to say. The silence is almost deafening now, but maybe it’s only her who thinks that. Surely, Kylo, ever patient, is waiting for her to say something. To dismiss him, perhaps? He’d never dismiss her, because he’s too polite…

Should she invite him in for a cup of tea? Would that be too strange? She needs to thank him somehow—

Before she can speak up, Kylo undoes his seatbelt and then turns to the side. He reaches into his backseat and rifles through his belongings. Rey peeks and sees a paper bag, a coat, and his familiar satchel all strewn on the back seat.

He pulls out an umbrella from the floor and then offers it to her. Rey holds her hands up.

“ _Rey_ ,” he says, holding out the umbrella towards her. “You’ll get sick. It’s still raining. I’ve kept you long enough already.”

“But if I take that then you won’t have an umbrella,” she shoots back. “And then _you’ll_ get sick.”

“I have a garage. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m already wet anyway.”

“All the more reason for you to take it.”

“Kylo—“

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he huffs. Rey’s mouth falls open in an unsaid retort, but she’s interrupted by the noise of the door opening. He turns away from her and opens the umbrella before stepping outside of the car.

He doesn’t even close the door. Rey watches him walk around the car and then approach her side. She stares at him, frozen, even as he opens her passenger door and stares at her expectantly, the umbrella held above him. He holds it closer to the doorway, tilts it slightly to shield her from the immediate rain.

Kylo raises a brow.

“You don’t have to…” she insists, glaring up at him. She unbuckles her seatbelt but doesn’t move.

“If you aren’t taking the umbrella then I’m walking you to your front door,” he says. His voice is low even in the rain, but Rey’s ears perk up and she makes out every word.

“You didn’t even close your door,” she mutters petulantly. But she does get up, and Kylo steps backwards to make space for her. The umbrella doesn’t move, though, and when she finally stands in the afternoon rain, her body shielded from the wind, she can only look up at Kylo’s looming frame.

He looks down at her, that expression smug.

“Come on,” he says, voice a mere breath. Rey bites back a reply and then walks forward. Kylo follows her every move, matches her pace perfectly. They’re standing too close, she thinks, but she doesn’t mind. He emanates warmth like a furnace, and she keeps her face blank even at the sensation of his arm pressing against hers. His body heat seeps in even through the fabric of his clothes, even through the wet fabric of her jacket. He’s warm and solid beside her, _real,_ and she tries not to think it but the word comes to her anyway, unbidden—it’s comforting.

He doesn’t move away even as they’re pressed together. Rey is hyperaware of his every movement, of her every breath. When they’re near her door, she realizes that the umbrella isn’t big enough for both of them; she notes that Kylo’s right shoulder is dripping wet with rain.

But he doesn’t mention anything. He only glances down at her, gaze soft. Concerned. There’s an unvoiced question hanging in the air between them like a hitched breath. He almost moves to shield her even further, but she shakes her head. The fabric of his right sleeve grows blacker with the dampness of the rain. He looks silly with half of his body sopping wet like that.

There’s an awning at her front door. He walks her up to it, but doesn’t dare to step underneath the roof. He remains there, like an idiot in the rain, a giant holding out a black umbrella over Rey’s head.

She bites back a smile.

“There, problem solved,” Kylo says. His eyes glow with mirth, and Rey can’t resist it anymore. She replies with a grin.

“You’re getting wet,” she says.

“It’s fine. At least I don’t look like a drowned rat.”

Rey’s eyes widen. She smacks him gently on the arm. “ _Hey!_ ” Kylo only chuckles, not even moved by her force.

“Take a warm bath as soon as you get inside,” he then says seriously. Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes. She just nods instead. “Now hurry up before you get sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. “Thank you for driving me home.”

“No problem,” he replies with a curt nod. “Have a good day, Rey.”

She really shouldn’t be smiling this much.

“Drive safely.”

He throws her another nod before turning around, his body hulking and large even underneath the umbrella. She watches him approach his car, body hunched over in the remnants of the rain. He gets in and closes the doors with a dull thud. The car doesn’t start, though, and she sighs and unlocks her door. It opens without a creak.

Rey raises a hand as if to say “all good?”, or perhaps to say goodbye.

Finally, the windshield wipers turn on, and the car lights up in response. Rey enters her apartment complex and closes the door behind her.

It’s only when she’s going up the stairs to the third floor that she finally looks out one of the windows on the landing. Even through the fogged up glass, she can see outside. Kylo’s car finally pulls out of the street, the beams of his headlights cutting through the raindrops.

Rey releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 

Back in her apartment, after she’s peeled off her wet clothes and towelled herself dry, she picks up her phone and checks out Kylo’s contact. His number is listed under _KR._

Her thumb hovers over a button.

She glances up at her empty apartment. The room is quiet and still. There by the doorway, where there are usually two pairs of shoes—Finn’s boots and hers—there’s only one lonely pair. One of her sneakers is haphazardly kicked off, and it lies sideways.

_Me: Thank you for driving me home today_

Right when she’s about to put her phone down, it pings with a response.

_KR: No problem._

She bites her lip.

_Me: I think Wednesday is better for me. How about you?_

Those three bubbles appear, and she watches them float on and on until Kylo finishes typing out his response.

_KR: Either day would have been fine. Wednesday it is, then? It’s still early, so if you change your mind later on that’s fine._

_Me: No, Wednesday is good. Where are we going?_

_KR is typing…_

_KR: I was hoping that you’d help me decide._

Rey bursts into laughter.

_Me: Okay then. Give me your options!_

_KR: Excited, are we?_

_Me: You know my weakness for food_

_KR: You mean “good food”._

_Me: No, I mean food in general lol_

_KR: Of course, you’re a college undergrad. How could I forget the horrible diet?_

There it is again, that warmth in her chest. Rey lies down sideways in her bed, body curled up and eyes focused on the phone in her hand. She presses her face against the softness of her pillow, and begins typing out another reply.

The rain continues to drone on outside of her window. Her room is dimly lit by the glow of a desk lamp and the light from her screen. Rey holds her breath, retypes her sentence, and then hits send.

Only moments later, her phone pings back in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> - _[I’m a house on fire and everyone is leaving](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgIjfj29OA0)_  
>  - _[But half of me is half of you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9rMNCW3lnA)_
> 
> Or: after almost 25k words they are finally at a first name basis.
> 
> By the way, I have to apologize in advance. I've been super busy, so the next few chapters might be late. We've reached the second part of this fic, so the ball is finally rolling ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dessert.

Rey stands in front of Maz’s, her hands in her pockets, as she stares at her reflection in the glass door. The girl that stares back at her is a little scruffy and unsure, with wide eyes and pursed lips. Her hair is slightly windswept, with wisps of her hair having come loose from her bun. Rey doesn’t know why she hesitates before entering.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her reflection follows.

Rey squares her shoulders and pushes the door open before she can do anything else. Before she can leave. As soon as she steps inside, the final notes of an old song drift through the air. She doesn’t know what it’s called, but it wraps her in warmth the way Maz’s always does, and Rey’s body sighs at her familiar surroundings.

The diner has fewer customers than usual today, but it isn’t empty. When she looks around, she realizes that she doesn’t recognize anyone. It makes sense, of course; this place is far away enough from campus that locals from the other areas would frequent it. So Rey scans the seats and booths, the stools, going up on her tiptoes to look over customers' heads. A waitress walks around, apron tied around her waist and a tray balanced in her hand, and when Rey follows the woman’s path her eyes catch a tall figure.

Kylo sits in a booth near the back. He’s facing her, yet he hasn’t seen her yet. He’s engrossed in the menu, flipping the pages idly, head bowed down low so that his glasses slide down his nose. A glass of water sits near his elbow, with drops of moisture already condensing on its rim. Rey struts towards him with purpose, her gaze zeroed in on his distracted face, and as she nears she opens her mouth with a wide grin, a greeting ready on her lips—

Kylo looks up and then blinks owlishly, meeting her figure head on. She notes the exact moment that he recognizes her, because his shoulders fall ever so slightly, his head rises up to look at her more clearly, and something gentle settles on his features.

“Hey,” Rey says with a tiny wave. She slides into the couch opposite his and untangles her arms from her jacket. She plops it down next to her without breaking eye contact.

“Hey,” he returns.

“Were you waiting long?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“No, I just got here.”

“Oh, _good_.” Rey grins even as she lets out a tired exhale. She props her elbows onto the tabletop and then leans forward, reaching out to grab a spare menu. Kylo only watches her wordlessly, his own menu still in his hands. “I promise I wasn’t late on purpose. I rushed here as soon as I could.”

“Did you get lost?”

“No!” Rey puts her menu down. She knows what she’s going to get anyway; it’ll be the same as usual. “I come here all the time with my friends. I _live_ for Double or Nothing Night.”

Kylo’s voice comes out in a wistful breath. “Oh. Double or Nothing Night… they’re still doing that?”

“ _Still_? I don’t think they ever stopped! I thought you knew this place.”

He shrugs, eyes leaving hers and glancing down at the tabletop. “I haven’t been here in years.”

His voice trails off into a whisper. Rey deflates, wondering what it is she said. His eyes are glassy even as he stares at the menu—surely, he can’t even be reading anything. Rey wishes again, wishes that she could reach out and offer a warm hand just the way she does with Finn or Rose…

But she doesn’t. She only stares at him, waiting for the moment he’ll look up and meet her eyes again.

“Good thing that I dragged you here, then,” she says, smiling. “There’s a lot of new stuff on the menu. Finn and I always try them.”

When he looks at her again, that gaze boyish and shy behind the frame of his glasses, Rey’s smile widens even more. “Of course. What _else_ do you do, besides eat?”

He’s teasing. Rey resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“What _else_ do you do, besides read?” she snaps back. She doesn't expect him to reply seriously, but he does.

“I train, actually,” he replies, taking a sip of water. He raises a smug brow. “Muay Thai at the local gym… What? Did you think I didn’t have any other hobbies?”

Rey blinks at him, controlling herself so that her jaw doesn’t fall open. She sees him in a new light now: catches the bare shape of his muscles beneath his dark sweater, the crooked line of his nose, his smirk, and his giant hands. And there’s another image of him that comes to her unbidden: a boxing ring with spotlights on the center, Kylo with his arms bent in front of his face, his lips curling into a snarl as he lands a punch on his opponent, those muscles rippling beneath his glistening skin—

She sinks into her chair and pointedly stares at his nose instead of at his eyes or chest. She hopes her face isn't burning. She hopes he doesn't realize why she's reacting this way.

“Why are you a literature professor again?” she asks. Kylo bursts into a heady laugh, his voice rumbling in his chest. Rey’s eyes flick back up to his, and she slowly gives him a smile.

“Good question,” he says. “I don’t know. It’s one of the very few things I’m actually good at.”

See, Kylo is still Kylo. He raises a hand to call the waitress, and when she arrives to take their orders, he speaks to her in a voice that’s soft and low.

Rey watches him speak. He catches her gaze mid-speech and holds onto it, not looking away until he’s done.

 

She orders pie because she’s still hungry, even when Kylo continues digging into his stew.

She doesn’t know if he’s still serious about treating her, so she might as well treat _herself_. Rey picks up her fork with a giddy grin and cuts through her slice of cherry pie. The redness of the fruit bleeds starkly against the white porcelain plate, and Rey thrusts a forkful into her mouth before it can spill all over her clothes.

It’s sweet and refreshing, prickling her tongue with a burst of flavor. Rey lets out a high-pitched noise of wonder, a muffled “ _ooh_ ”, and then glances up to see Kylo watching her with amusement. His own empty bowl is finally pushed away.

“What?” she asks, mouth still full. She swallows. “It’s _good_. I told you.”

“You think everything’s good.”

She snubs her nose at him. “And you think everything is terrible. Go ahead, try it. There’s enough for the two of us.”

There’s another untouched plate beside hers. She’d ordered two slices, obviously under the guise of one being his, but if Kylo won’t eat it then she’ll gladly take it back. No need to waste food.

“I think by that you mean there’s enough for two servings for you,” he says, even as he picks up a spare fork. Rey watches him carve out a portion, his wrist rotating with such surgical precision. The utensil is tiny against his fingers.

 _“Tonight, by the freeway,”_ he says, his voice rumbling. His eyes are focused on the dessert. _“A man eating fruit pie with a buck knife carves the likeness of his lover’s face into the motel wall.”_

He finishes his sentence by shoving a forkful of cherry pie into his mouth. Rey’s nose scrunches up as she watches him chew, watches him weigh it in his mouth and give it a second thought.

“Not bad,” he says. Rey huffs at him.

“Better than any freeway pies,” she grumbles. “You need to stop doubting me.”

“I never doubt you,” he murmurs. Rey’s heart skips a beat, but she doesn’t know why. Kylo continues without preamble though, and his voice is didactic again. Almost scolding. “I was quoting Siken. The line just came to mind.”

“You expect me to know who that is?”

He rolls his eyes. Rey’s about to retort, but then an idea pops into his head and he looks at her with a renewed twinkle in his gaze. He leans forward, elbow against the tabletop.

“Someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure.”

Rey’s lips thin out. “Yes, so just tell me who he is. I think we’ve already established that I want to learn about these things.”

“I’m sure you remember. I was on the phone with you, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart?_

Rey’s mouth drops open. Her face flushes with heat, and she snaps her head towards him, unsure of what to say. But Kylo is only grinning at her, dark and mischievous, that expression boyish instead of suggestive. He looks like an overgrown, over-eager child, really, with the hint of crooked teeth and soft curls bouncing about his head. The seconds tick on, and Rey stutters out a reply… before it hits her.

“Wait, you’re just quoting him again, aren’t you?!” she asks, affronted.

Kylo bursts out into laughter. It’s odd and relentless, like an explosion propelled through the air. His laugh cuts through the song in the background, and Rey only stares back at him, arms crossed over her chest.

He shakes his head and rubs his eye, shifting his glasses in the process. They’re skewed diagonally across his face now, and he blinks in confusion as the world blurs in front of him. Rey can’t stay scowling with that view right in front of her. Her arms fall.

He’s making _jokes_ now. She wouldn’t have believed that to be possible weeks ago.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t resist. It fit too perfectly.”

This time, Rey _does_ stick her tongue out at him.

“There’s a penalty for making fun of me,” she states. “I get your slice of pie too.”

“I knew you wanted it from the start.”

“I _offered_ it to you at the start. It’s called sharing, Kylo.”

“And now you’re taking it away out of the goodness of your own heart?”

Rey rolls her eyes. Kylo pushes the plate closer towards her.

“Okay, enough teasing. Hurry up and eat it before it gets too cold.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Rey replies sweetly. She eats the rest of her first slice with gusto, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as she scarfs it down with frightening intensity. Maybe she’s exaggerating on purpose—just because Kylo always looks mildly confused and concerned at the same time whenever she does it.

“Last call,” she sings, pulling the second plate towards her. Kylo shakes his head. He takes a sip of water and watches her from behind the rim of his glass, those eyes sparkling in silent laughter.

It doesn’t take her long to eat this one either. Most of it is inhaled in a furious wind, because Rey starts to wonder if he’s getting bored here just waiting for her. He shouldn’t be too bothered, though, because soon enough, with only a few minutes having passed, she’s left with one final piece.

Rey stabs the segment of pie with her fork. The crust caves in, spilling out an ooze of dark cherry filling. She scoops it up and then plops it into her mouth, lifting another palm up to catch any stray crumbs. Just as the sweetness erupts on her tongue, there’s a sensation of something falling from her fork, and she lets out a yelp of surprise. The stickiness spreads from her mouth, from her lips, and onto her chin.

She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of cherry filling in the process. But she can still feel something stuck on the very edge of her jaw, and right as she’s about to wipe it away with a finger, a napkin comes into view.

Rey looks forward and sees Kylo offering the napkin to her. He’d grabbed an entire wad from the dispenser to his left, and she’s about to thank him, but he refuses to look her way. His eyes are focused somewhere to his right, even beyond her shoulder. _Is there something wrong?_ , she wants to ask, because his face is pinched and his shoulders are stiff. Only his side-profile is visible, and she can see a faint pinkness blooming on his cheeks; the color even reaches the shell of his ear, only visible through partitions in the strands of his hair.

She grabs the napkins with a muffled thanks, and then begins to wipe her face clean.

Even she’s starting to feel embarrassed. She really is a slob.

Kylo clears his throat. When Rey sets the crumpled napkins down—her face now clear of food—he looks at her again, his face returning to its normal color. He tilts his head to the side,

“Ready to go?” he asks. Rey nods. He calls for the bill.

“We should split it,” she says as soon as it arrives. The waitress leaves the tray on their table with a plastic clatter. Kylo shakes his head and pulls it towards him.

“No, I said I’d treat you, remember? I invited you over, so I’m treating you.”

He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. Rey takes that moment to pull the tray in her direction.

“You’re still treating me half of it. I should at least pay for what I ate.”

“Rey—“

She pulls on it again just as he tugs. They glare at each other for a few seconds, both of their hands firmly on opposite ends of the bill tray. Rey narrows her eyes, refusing to be intimidated by Kylo’s heavy stare.

“I thought you wanted free food,” he says.

“Maybe you can just treat me next time,” she replies.

They’re silent. Rey winces, and she’s about to call out a clarification when Kylo’s voice comes out low and disbelieving.

“You want there to be a next time?” he asks. Rey nods stiffly.

“If possible.”

They look up at each other. Kylo’s lips part in a relieved exhale. His hand on the tray relaxes until it’s only just resting on the plastic. If Rey reaches just a few centimeters further, if she stretches out just a little bit more, then her hands would brush his.

She doesn’t do that, of course.

He lets her split the bill with him.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” he asks as they step outside. He inserts his arms into his coat sleeves, pulls it up higher over his back. Rey hums, her hands in her pockets. A single red car passes them.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I like the walk.”

He raises a brow. “Where did you pass?”

“The avenue. Where else?”

“That’s the long way,” he says. “I can’t believe you walked all the way here.”

“I _like_ the exercise,” Rey snaps. “And what do you mean ‘long way’? It’s the fastest way to get here.”

Kylo looks down at her, the shadow of a mischievous smile on his lips. It’s not quite the curve of a grin, but with his height, with him looming over her—she can’t help but feel like he’s making fun of her.

“That’s right. You haven’t been here long enough,” he says, musing. “I’m not sure if they’ve blocked it, but when I was younger, you could cut through the woods at the back there. It leads right into that field near campus.” He turns his head and jerks his chin towards the back of Maz’s. Rey peeks behind him to look.

Right behind Maz’s, behind the gravel parking lot, is the very edge of a grove. She looks back at him and raises a brow. She makes up her mind.

“Well, what are you standing there for?” she asks, already moving past him. Kylo blinks in surprise and only stares at her, still standing in place. “Aren’t you going to show me?”

He frowns. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now!”

“I could just drive you home if you’re too tired to walk back—“

She huffs and then tugs at his sleeve. Kylo’s eyes grow comically wide behind his glasses, and Rey laughs at him. He follows her as she pulls him along to the back of the parking lot, her hand still gripping his shoulder. She grips the fabric of his jacket. His upper arm is hard and wide, and Rey tries not to concentrate on that fact so that her face won’t erupt into a gigantic blush. She drags him by his sleeve and he lets her, his protests ignored.

“Did you really expect me to let it go after you told me that?” she asks him, grinning. “I’d _love_ to explore it.”

The face he makes is half-pained and half-stunned. The rays of the sun grow sparse here now, and they fall through the branches of the trees. Kylo’s boots skid across the gravel, and Rey finally releases him. The air is much colder here, but also much cleaner—she can’t even smell the hint of exhaust.

She stops beside the first tree. “Don’t you want to see if they’ve closed the path down?”

He purses his lips. “Not really.”

“Well, fine. Suit yourself. I’m going to check.”

She skips away and grins when she hears him start to follow. Kylo grumbles something bitter, but he remains on her heels.

“It’s dangerous to go alone,” he tells her. She hears him from behind. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

“We’re in the middle of the city!” she exclaims. And then adds, “Anyway, that’s why we’re both going to check.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

She bursts into laughter.

The grove isn’t a real forest. It’s just a tiny spot still filled with trees, a tiny oasis amidst the outskirts of the city. The trees are tall and large, their trunks dark and warped with age. Their branches are gnarled and thin, creeping into the air with sharp edges. A collection of fallen red and orange leaves crunch beneath Rey’s feet, and she steps on them with glee.

The farther away they get from Maz’s, the less noise travels to meet them. A bird coos above, and Rey relishes in kicking up another smattering of leaves and twigs. Kylo snorts out a laugh behind her, so she spins around to face him, her hands on her hips.

He’s ridiculously large, blocking out what little sunlight reaches the two of them.

“Are you done playing with leaves?” he asks.

“Isn’t this something you’d appreciate?” she asks in reply. “Being one with Nature. All that Romantic stuff.”

“Technically, I’m on leave. So no, I don’t appreciate it right now.”

“Was that a pun?”

He groans. But Rey laughs and they both continue walking.

Distantly, Rey hears a car honking, and a single dog barking. But it’s all muffled, all blurred, and she imagines that the farther they go then the more it will feel like they’re in a different place completely. Kylo is silent behind her, his footsteps relatively light despite his stature.

A soft breeze blows through the trees. Rey zips her jacket higher up her body.

“Are you cold?” he asks. Rey shakes her head.

“No, I’m fine.”

They walk again.

There’s no need to rush. There’s only a single path, and it doesn’t even curve. When Rey looks to her left and to her right she catches nothing but sprawling trees and forest floor—but when she concentrates harder, she can see the hint of civilization to their right. The avenue is mostly empty, but every few minutes a lone car buzzes past.

Neither of them says a word. Rey cherishes the fresh autumn air, and she inhales deeply to appreciate the scent. Her hometown had been a dead-end, a deserted wasteland of searing heat and sleepy old town. There aren’t many trees near her apartment either, so she appreciates the peace and quiet for once. It’s odd to exist so closely to so many other human beings—

Rey spares Kylo a backwards glance. He’s frowning as he walks behind her, his eyes completely focused on the footpath. He seems a bit lost, a bit too big for this place like he's outgrown it. She feels a spike of guilt for dragging him all the way here.

“We don’t have to go all the way to the end,” Rey says. She turns back to the path and continues on, hoping that he hadn’t seen her staring. “I just wanted to see it because you said you went here when you were younger. Were you a college student then too?”

His voice is low.

“No,” he replies. “I was a child.”

Rey blinks. “Oh.”

It takes him a while to expound.

“Maz is an old family friend,” he explains. “Sometimes my parents would drop me off there so she could look after me. That was before I was old enough to be left at home.”

Rey’s pace slows. The pathway beneath her feet is well-worn, but increasingly covered in foliage. She steps over a fallen branch.

“I used to go here a lot when I wanted to be alone,” he adds softly. His voice is wistful, and Rey finally stops. She turns around, and if Kylo hadn’t looked up at the last moment, then he would’ve crashed into her. They stare at each other, silently assessing, blinking. Rey exhales, only slightly winded by the exercise.

A few strands of Kylo’s hair are out of place. He doesn’t look tired, but a small, tiny leaf has fallen and landed on the collar of his black wool coat. It contrasts sharply against the dark fabric. He tilts his head to the side, glasses catching a glint of sunlight. Rey wants to reach out and brush the leaf off of him.

“Was that often?” she whispers. “You wanting to be alone?”

He nods almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”

He voices it like it’s fact.

Rey’s voice is small. “Me too.”

His mouth flattens into a painful line but he doesn’t reply. He only reaches out towards her. Rey freezes, but she doesn’t dare move. His hand brushes the edge of her shoulder, and she feels the warmth and strength of his fingers past the fabric of her jacket. In a moment, the feeling is gone, and he’s retreated backwards again. She looks at him and he shrugs.

“There was a twig on your shoulder,” he explains. “It’s been bothering me for a while.”

And then he looks up at the icy white sky. A hint of clouds hover above; they’re only visible through the darkness of the tree branches.

“We should head back soon,” he tells her. “It’s better to get home before dark.”

Rey nods without a word. He looks at her once, gaze assessing, and then offers a tiny smile before turning away. He waits for her to follow before he moves, and they walk the rest of the way back in silence, the leaves crunching beneath their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Little Beast by Richard Siken](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/22/little-beast-crush-by-richard-siken/)
> 
>  
> 
> Or: Rey is hungry, but both of them are thirsty af.
> 
> I hope you guys aren't too disappointed with the shortness of this chapter! I considered writing the entire lunch scene but ultimately I didn't have the time or energy for all that. There's been a ton of flirting and banter already, so I figured we could get moving.


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She dreams of the past.

She wakes up early in the morning as she’s used to; a lifetime of scrubbing floors and repairing junk at dawn doesn’t leave her body so easily. But she stretches out leisurely as the autumn sunlight drifts into her bedroom. Rey pauses, her gaze focused on the cobwebbed ceiling, and for the fourth day this week, she realizes that everything is silent once more.

There is no distant banging or thudding footsteps. There is no whispered din or muffled arguments, no dogs barking in the distance. No neighbors living their routine past thin walls. No Plutt—thank god, no Plutt—yelling at her to get up and get more work done.

No Finn snoring in the bedroom next to hers. No Finn cooking breakfast in their tiny kitchen.

Rey gets up.

She makes breakfast herself but almost burns the eggs. She gobbles them down in silence, punctuated only by her loud chewing and the clink of her plates. She washes the dishes. Takes a hot shower. Gets dressed. Considers a walk, but then goes back to bed instead. The next four days stretch out onwards in front of her, unfurling like a neverending scroll.

It’s when she’s propped up on her pillows contemplating on continuing another repair project that a familiar object catches her eye. The poetry book that Kylo lent her remains on her desk, untouched since the time she’d first put it there. Ever since she got it, she’d been distracted by workload after workload, and so it had lain forgotten on her desk.

_It would do more good in your hands than if it was just gathering dust here._

Her cheeks grow hot, even if she finds that there’s no reason for it. Instead, Rey stands up and approaches her desk. She takes a seat and pulls the book towards her, tracing the engraved title with her fingers.

She hesitates before opening it. The crisp paper greets her, and she searches for that same poem that Kylo showed her. The one he liked.

It’s when she finds it that she realizes that it’s actually made of two stanzas, and that he’d only showed her the second one.

_And, like a dying lady lean and pale,_  
_Who totters forth, wrapp’d in a gauzy veil,_  
_Out of her chamber, led by the insane_  
_And feeble wanderings of her fading brain_  
_The mood arose up in the murky east_  
_A white and shapeless mass_

_Art thou pale for weariness_  
_Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,_  
_Wandering companionless_  
_Among the stars that have a different birth,_  
_And ever changing, like a joyless eye_  
_That finds no object worth its constancy?_

She reads it, her head bowed down low, her cheekbone pillowed against her fist. She curls the edge of the page in her other hand, and she stops to think. Was he trying to tell her something? Was it something about himself?

Or was it just a recommendation? Is she overthinking this?

Because Kylo Ren is an enigma, a monument that stands tall, casting dark shadows over everyone else. She thinks about his image in the classroom: large and brooding, distant and untouchable. The world is a cruel place, but it’s even crueller that there are things only he can see.

But is it that no one _can_ understand or is it that simply everyone refuses to?

Rey doesn’t know anything about his past. What she does know is only gleaned from bare hints, from skimming a volatile surface. But surely, if there is one thing she knows, it’s that the two of them lie isolated on a single point, on an island that will slowly drown in seawater.

(Because that’s how she felt as a child: like a lone survivor in a harsh desert, with nothing but her own callused hands for company. The rest of the world was as fleeting as the desert dunes, and every time she dared to hope for something it turned out to be a mirage)

(But he isn’t a mirage)

“ _I’m_ worth the constancy,” she whispers under her breath. Her chest tightens, and Rey pulls away, dropping the rest of that thought.

Rey sighs and resists a groan. Thinking about whatever they share in common leads to thinking about her memories of him. Her face feels warm when she remembers that particular day: the way he’d loomed over her, holding an umbrella above; his quiet acceptance of her orphaned past; his hands on the steering wheel, his hands near hers; the expression in his eyes when he’d walked her home—

She shakes her head. These aren’t good images for her to be dwelling on.

Instead, she scrutinizes the lines more intently.

_Art thou pale for weariness_  
_Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,_  
_Wandering companionless_  
_Among the stars that have a different birth…_

_You have the heart of a poet,_ he had told her. _It would be a shame if it went to waste._

She had wanted to ask him something once. She had wanted to reach out and ask him—

Are we the same, you and I?

Her hand stills on the book.

She stands.

Rey turns away and crouches down. She pulls out desk drawer after desk drawer, shoves her hands in to try and find one particular object. She rifles through spare electronic parts, nuts and bolts, loose sheaves of paper, the errant pen. She dumps out a binder of papers stained with equations and formulas on both sides. It’s only after fishing out an old bandana—so that’s where it went—that she finally finds what it was she was looking for.

Rey pulls out a notebook with a heaving breath. She takes a seat and turns it around in her hands, weighing it, inspecting both sides. It’s small, compact, and bound in cloth. The pages remain fresh and white, blotted with nothing but pre-fabricated lines.

It had been a gift from Rose in the first year of their friendship.

It no longer lies forgotten in her desk. There’s an itch inside of her, in her head and in her hands, in the back of her throat. Something buried deep within the recesses of her mind flickers to life like dying embers in a rekindled flame.

Rey picks up a pen and begins to write.

_My earliest memory is that of a car driving far, far away…_

 

 

_We’ll come back for you._

The woman’s voice is hoarse, distant, as if Rey’s hearing it through a tunnel. The woman is standing in the doorway, her figure silhouetted against lamplight. She moves sluggishly, body swaying like a fallen leaf, as she turns around, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Rey watches on, her doll clutched in her tiny hands, and whimpers as she watches the woman’s back grow smaller and smaller until it disappears.

The room is dark and fuzzy at the edges. Maybe she’s dreaming.

 

Rey presses her cheek against the tiled floor and watches for scurrying feet.

The bottom of this table is currently her favorite place to hide. The tiles are cool against her skin even in the sweltering summer heat, and she doesn’t dare to move her position even when she feels the sweat running down her neck. She’s still lucky to be able to fit in this place, but her legs are pushed uncomfortably against her torso. This year’s growth spurt hasn’t been all kind.

“Girl!” a deep voice hollers. It’s thick with rage. “Dumb girl! Where are you?”

A pair of boots approach her hiding spot. She presses her wrist to her mouth.

“There’s no dinner for insolent children who don’t finish their chores,” he grumbles out. He calls out her name again, but Rey doesn’t budge.

Finally, he seems to have given up. Plutt scuffles away, mumbling about something or the other. Rey lies there and counts down the minutes even after he’s left.

 

“You have to stop being such a difficult child, Rey,” her teacher says, looking down at her from her hawk-like nose. Rey scowls, her arms crossed over her chest and her legs spread as she slumps in her chair. The woman sighs. “You have to learn to play nice.”

“He was making fun of me,” Rey explains. “He shoved me first.”

“Don’t make excuses,” the woman tuts. “Good girls don’t get into fights.”

“I was defending myself—“

“They don’t talk back to grown-ups in that tone either, young lady.”

Rey’s scowl deepens.

“I’m going to have to call your guardian,” the woman continues, sighing. She adjusts her spectacles and opens a directory book. Rey watches her scan the columns with a manicured finger. “This is not acceptable behavior.”

“He won’t come,” Rey mumbles.

“He’ll have to, since this is already your second warning. You know what will happen if you have a third incident, don’t you?”

“I know,” Rey says. “It won’t happen again.”

She knows that neither of them believe her promise, but she’s learned that it’s better to say that than nothing at all.

 

The lights are dim, and they cast the rest of the countertop in a fuzzy red glow. Kylo’s turned towards her, his figure too tall for the barstool. He lifts a glass to his lips and offers a clumsy little smile, those eyes twinkling behind his lenses.

He’s saying something but Rey doesn’t know what. His lips move but she can’t make out any sounds. Her ears are filled with cotton and her chest is heavy, as if she’s underwater.

She wants to reach out. She wants to beg him to repeat his words. She’s sure that he’s saying something important, something vital. It burns her up, this curiosity, and Rey would reach out and grab his shoulders if her arms weren’t so heavy, if they weren’t shackled.

Shackled?

Her hands are still on her lap. When Rey looks back up, Kylo is now sitting several seats away. His figure is blurry in the distance. He’s a mere illusion now, a trick of the light. But he turns his head and their eyes meet—

She reads his lips. He’s calling her name.

_Rey._

_Rey…_

“Rey!”

Rey jolts awake and finds herself slumped over her desk. She groans and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. When she sits up, she pushes away the notebook and flips it shut.

The words on the page disappear out of sight and out of mind.

There's a strange clamor right outside her bedroom: the noise of cups and heavy feet and objects being set down. Her door is cracked open ever so slightly, so she approaches it and peeks outside. And then her entire face brightens up with pleasant surprise.

"Finn?!"

She exits her room and Finn runs up to greet her in a warm hug. Rey laughs, clutching him tightly. They release each other and step back.

"You're supposed to be with Poe," she says, confused. Finn just shrugs. He smells like an airport and lack of sleep.

"I went home early."

"You're not supposed to. What did Poe's family say?"

"They understand, so don't worry about it. But hey, I'm back now, right?"

Rey can't help her smile. Finn wraps an arm around her in another half-hug, and she pats his back. They waddle together as if in a three-legged race, and Finn laughs when they almost stumble on the way back to the kitchen.

"You know Poe looks exactly like his mom? The resemblance is freaky..."

She eagerly listens to him go on and on, asking questions and bursting into laughter every once in a while. Finn doesn't ask her too in-depth about how her week went, and she doesn't offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Moon](http://www.bartleby.com/101/609.html). I don't know why this poem has so many versions. There are two lines of an unfinished (second?) third stanza as well.
> 
> This chapter was just a short interlude. Expect a real chapter of the usual length to go up this Friday. At the usual time. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shattered visage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank you guys for the amazing content you've made inspired by this fic!! I really can't believe it!
> 
> Ntantzen has made two [lovely](https://ntantzen.tumblr.com/post/174116375369/chapter-8-interlude-is-up-a-modern) [moodboards](https://ntantzen.tumblr.com/post/174118086279/the-brightest-hour-by-holyrenperor-i-have-tons-of) ([twitter link](https://mobile.twitter.com/nancylovesreylo/status/998610303297380354))  
> Flatleymydear also made a lovely [moodboard](https://mobile.twitter.com/flatleymydear/status/999428731696447489) (and very kindly [submitted it to reylofic!](https://reylofic.tumblr.com/post/174219495551/the-brightest-hour-by-murakamism-twitter-a)) 
> 
> You guys rock. These Professor Ren edits make me swoon <3 It's exactly what he looks like!

_“Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,_   
_And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,_   
_Tell that its sculptor well those passions read…”_

“Sounds familiar,” someone whispers. Rey looks up slowly, and her eyes catch the two boys next to her talking in hushed voices. The shorter one snickers into his sleeve. She only catches his words because she’s sitting right next to them.

“My name is Kylo Ren, King of Kings; look on yer grades, ye poor souls, and despair!” he declares with narrowed eyes, lowering his voice to sound even scarier. Rey rolls her eyes and turns away from both of them. Rose is still listening intently, her attention fully on the projection in front.

Kylo, to his credit, seems lost in his own daze. He walks as he speaks, covering the entire stretch of the front platform in just a few wide strides. He holds the pointer in his hand, clicking every few lines to bring up the next slide. He stands there with his back straight and stiff, looking more like a general than a lecturer. Rey follows all of his little movements with her gaze.

“Ozymandias was a critique on the political climate of that time,” Kylo says, his voice loud and clear throughout the room. “Shelley implies that just as the ancient civilizations had their own foolish, power-hungry rulers with delusions of grandeur…” The slide reveals a photograph of a gigantic statue: a bust of Ramesses II with a crack running through his chest and a portion of his headpiece missing, the damage barely grazing his round, soulless eyes. It looks much less impressive than Rey expected. “So did nineteenth-century Europe.”

The slide changes to reveal a painting of a red-caped Napoleon Bonaparte on his sturdy horse, both of them climbing the rocky alps. Rey rubs her eyes.

"But the excavated monument of Ramessess II doesn't reflect the dictator that Shelley describes. His face seems more harmless, doesn't it? One could argue that Shelley was just using the name of Ramesses II, just using a historical discovery as a springboard for something else.

“So was this poem a warning?” he asks. “Was it just a mockery? An observation?”

He glances around the room. Everyone is silent.

“But before we speculate on that, we should examine the poem more intently.”

He clicks the pointer, and the next slide shows the poem in full.

“What’s fascinating about this poem,” Kylo begins, now staring at the screen. “Is how it starts its first line with the first-person pronoun _I_ , yet this _I_ isn’t the focus of the poem at all. He’s barely even the narrator; in fact, he merely relays another traveler’s story. The _I_ doesn’t even set the scene. He grows invisible and inconsequential in the face of the tale of the great monument.”

Kylo continues to speak. Rey listens intently: her gaze focused on his every movement, and her ears focused on his every word. She’s stopped writing, but she can hear the soft scratching of Rose’s pen against her notebook. There’s the faint noise of shuffling movement from her right side, but she ignores it.

Her brows scrunch together when he starts discussing various themes and the relationships between certain lines and words. She didn’t think a short poem could hold _that_ many interpretations.

“Through this, there is distance relayed in all aspects of the text: distance from an unknowable history, physical distance with the empty desert… as you can see here: it’s _boundless and bare,_ with _lone and level sands_ … and distance between the narrator and the story of Ozymandias’ monument itself…”

There’s another snicker from beside her. Rey frowns and slumps over her desk, cheek pillowed against her fist. She knows that Kylo would be more than happy to help her if she didn’t understand something for the upcoming exam, but it’s the principle of the thing, you know, and she’d rather die than ask him to tutor her too after hours—

Kylo stops speaking for a moment. He glances in her direction, and Rey sits up straight… but he doesn’t meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze is directed at the seats to her right. He glowers, that expression dark and murderous—even darker with his sharp lips and muscled arm raised to point at a line onscreen. The room’s temperature falls a few degrees, she thinks.

She definitely feels the two guys freeze in place next to her.

His eyes narrow even further, and she can see the way his jaw twitches even from all the way back here. The entire room grows silent, with no one daring to let out a breath. Everyone waits for what will happen next.

But nothing does              

The moment ends, and everything is back to normal. Rey can hear their collective sighs as Kylo turns away, resuming his speech about imagery and distance and cutting descriptions. There’s something in there too about the difference between the sculptor’s image and the subject himself, and Rey notes it all down half-heartedly, her ears too busy being lulled by the waves of his rolling voice.

He doesn’t glance at her direction anymore, but it isn’t really necessary, because nobody dares to make a sound until the class ends.

 

Kylo rushes off again after the bell rings. Rey idly watches him leave as she gets up and stuffs the rest of her things into her bag.

“That was scary,” the guy next to her is saying. It’s the shorter one. “I thought Professor Byron was going to _kill_ me.”

The girl in front of them turns around and gives a mischievous grin. “You’re the only one dumb enough to goof off in his class, Con.”

The taller guy laughs and claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds. “We were lucky this time, I guess.”

“You know, I can’t believe he hasn’t exploded at us yet,” the girl is saying. She leans her arms against the tabletop and looks up at them all. “My friend took him last year, and all of her stories were so _horrible_ that I wanted to actually cry when I found out I had to take him.”

“Kriff, and this stuff is so _boring_ ,” the taller guy complains. “What the hell is the Grinch doing teaching Romantic poetry?”

“I don’t think he’s that bad,” Rey cuts in. Everyone’s heads turn to look at her. Rey swallows, realizes that they’ve gone silent with her interruption. She clenches her hand into a fist. “Sure, he’s not the friendliest but… he’s not as bad as they say.”

The girl one row below—she’s wearing a ponytail—speaks slowly. “That guy has legit issues,” she explains. “I had a friend who saw him attend anger management classes. That was, like, two or three years ago, I think.”

Rey blinks. The other boys shrug.

“Rey,” Rose calls out. “Let’s go?”

Ponytail Girl slings her bag over her shoulder and then leaves. Rey purses her lips and follows Rose out, immediately dismissing all of the things she’d heard.

Besides, there’s still something she needs to tell him about, and nobody but him could ever understand.

They’re all wrong.

 

 

She does come back to his office.

She goes there on a whim, unsure if he’s even inside. But as soon as she knocks and calls out his name in a question, his voice invites her in. Rey opens the door and peeks into the room, and sees Kylo in what is probably his natural habitat by now: the shelves framing his desk still bursting with books; a gigantic black ceramic mug on his tabletop still steaming with the remains of coffee; and the man himself who glances at her, his sleeves rolled up until his elbows as he twirls a pen between his fingers.

He raises a brow in greeting. Rey presses the door closed behind her—far enough that she doesn’t leave a crack, but not enough that it clicks closed. She offers a sheepish grin.

“You said I was welcome, didn’t you?” she teases. She expects Kylo to berate her, maybe offer a disapproving stare, but instead he sighs as if resigned.

“I did, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t tell her to keep the door open. He doesn’t even offer her a seat. Rey takes that moment to cross the room and plop herself down onto the chair opposite his table, instantly slouching in it as she leans her elbows against the armrests. They look at each other, and for a moment Kylo’s hand stills. The pen is frozen between his middle and pointer fingers, still diagonal in mid-twirl.

Rey hesitates, then.

“Should I have called first?” she asks, grimacing slightly. She looks down at his desk and notices piercing red marks on the text. He’s been grading essays. Rey looks back up and meets his amused gaze.

“These are technically my office hours,” he replies, quietly sliding the papers away from her sight. Rey tries not to blush. “So it’s fine.”

He downs the rest of his mug in one go. He sets it back onto his desk, now fully empty.

Rey wonders if it would really be fine if _another_ student did this.

“Are those our midterms?” she asks him instead, offering a bright, hopeful smile. Kylo flips the one he’d been checking face-down, but not before Rey catches angry red slashes on the cover. At least it wasn’t hers.

“Yes,” he says. “But I haven’t finished checking them yet, so you’ll have to wait for your results like everyone else.”

Rey pouts. “But have you finished mine?”

He hums. “Yes.” She opens her mouth to speak, but he pre-empts her. “I’m not telling you anything.”

When Rey shrugs, he only chuckles.

“I didn’t know you were that worried about your grades in my class,” he murmurs.

“Most people who take your class _get_ worried.”

“If it’s _most_ people, then they should be.”

Rey’s mouth falls open in shock. Kylo snickers, and the sound is new to Rey—new and strange and positively _smug_.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be saying to your student,” she tells him, even though they’ve already clearly crossed some boundary. She bites back a wince after she’s said it, as if she had done something unspeakable by mentioning the bond between them. Kylo doesn’t flinch, though.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” He returns the cap back onto his pen. “Besides, you aren’t _most people_ , Rey.”

Her name slides smoothly out of his mouth. He’s been using it more and more often recently, and Rey’s breath _does not_ hitch in her throat at his voice. Has he even realized that he called her by her first name and not Miss Kenobi?

“What does that mean?” she asks. Her voice only quivers slightly. He turns his eye to her, and he stares at her intently through the lenses of his glasses.

“You actually share valuable insights in class, for one.”

“Do you know that most people are just afraid to speak up in front of you?” she blurts out. Kylo blinks. His expression doesn’t change.

“Yes, I’ve been aware.”

But _she_ isn’t afraid. She never has been. Rey thinks back to before she had really known him. What she had felt about him then had never been fear, and what she’d taken from his reactions was never an intent to terrorize—it was all just a quiet indifference, a deep respect for his own craft that other people could never truly comprehend.

“I just wondered if you were keeping up your persona on purpose,” she adds, voicing out her own thoughts. “Being Professor Byron and all—“

“What?!” he splutters. At that moment, his arm jerks out in surprise, colliding with the mug on his desk. It sails off the table in a blur, and lands onto the tiled floor with a dull thud. Kylo winces just as Rey flinches, and they look down at the same time. The mug remains on the floor unscathed, rolling on its side until it comes to a stop. Even Rey is impressed.

Kylo reaches down and fishes it up by its handle. He sets it back onto his desk with a grimace. It leaves a few droplets of black coffee on the floor.

Rey covers her mouth with a hand.

Kylo runs a nervous hand through his hair. He focuses his gaze on the edge of the shelf to his right, those dark brows furrowing lightly. He swallows, and Rey realizes that he’s embarrassed. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t… I know you were making a joke, but…”

Rey blinks matter-of-factly. She tilts her head to the side. “I wasn’t joking.”

He finally meets her eyes. He looks utterly, adorably confused.

“What?” he asks.

“I wasn’t joking,” Rey repeats. “People really do call you Professor Byron.”

“They _do?_ ” he asks, voice rising sharply. His mouth flounders open like a goldfish. “Who? _Why?”_

_Because you’re tall, dark, and handsome_ , Rey wants to reply. But she thinks that’s too telling—and besides, he seems almost… eager. Overexcited. Those eyes are intently set on her, as if he’s a puppy waiting for his favorite tennis ball. Rey shrugs one shoulder.

“It’s… just… everyone.”

“That’s…” he pulls away, leaning heavily against his backrest. Kylo pulls up a hand to rub at his jawline. A small smile slips onto Rey’s lips.

“I didn’t think you’d be this surprised. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t know,” he replies. “And this is… I don’t deserve it. I know it’s a joke, but Lord Byron was a _remarkable_ and very fascinating man. If I could even produce something worth half of the quality of his works…”

Rey laughs. His attention snaps back to her.

“What?” he asks, slightly affronted.

“I never realized you were such a _fanboy_.”

His lips are pursed now. “Even if you didn’t approve of his lifestyle, you can at least admire his writing.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“He’s a groundbreaking English poet—“

“ _Kylo_.” She leans forward. Kylo finally shuts up. “Okay, yes, I get it.”

“I should assign you more of his poetry.”

She knows he’s just teasing. She rolls her eyes.

“Can we not discuss academics right now? I’m sick of studying.”

He looks amused again. “Then why else did you come here, hm?”

At this, Rey perks up. A surge of electric energy courses through her veins, and she grips the armrests at her sides to ground herself. Kylo stares at her, anticipating her reply, and she finds herself desperate for a reaction.

“I finally tried writing,” she whispers.

Kylo’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His lips curl up in pleasant surprise. Rey feels like something heavy is now off her chest, and she laughs at how silly it is to be nervous about confessing something like this.

“That’s good,” he says. “That’s really good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever show it to anyone,” Rey continues. “But you were right. It did help. I feel like… I can breathe now. It’s like there were all these words inside of me that were just dying to come out.”

He nods.

“That’s how it usually goes,” he says. “You keep writing as if you’re possessed. Sometimes poetry is a purging of the soul.”

She chuckles at his elegant words. “ _Purging_?” Really?

He looks at her straight in the eye. Rey freezes in place. “There are some things that you can only face through text,” he says sombrely. “Fears that you don’t even realize you have until you’ve written them down.”

Rey glances down.

“It doesn’t make you weak,” Kylo continues. “In fact, facing the truth makes you stronger.”

The floor swims into a blur in Rey’s vision. She listens to him speak, and continues to listen even after he’s gone silent. There’s a thought on her tongue, one carefully hidden away all her life. But the moment she thinks of releasing it, it’s like a dam inside of her has broken—now weak against the rush of water.

It’s all right. It’s safe with him.

“You know I’ve always…” she drifts off, and then glances back at him from beneath her lashes. Kylo stares at her, silently listening, his expression curious. Welcoming. Rey steels herself before continuing. “I’ve always been afraid of forgetting them.”

“Your parents,” he answers. It isn’t a question. Rey nods with a bitter smile.

“Yes, my parents. I was also afraid of them forgetting _me_ , but…” she grips the armrests even harder. “If I was the one who forgot them, then I’d never forgive myself.”

Kylo’s eyes and mouth soften with something akin to empathy.

“That wouldn’t be your fault,” he says.

Rey looks at him, looks into his gaze, and speaks tenderly.

“Maybe so. But the truth is that there isn’t much to remember. I was too young, and sometimes I wonder if I made some of my memories up. If I… had wanted to have memories of them so badly that I created fantasies in my head.”

_We’ll come back for you_.

That woman’s voice: was it really her mother’s? Or was it hers inside her own head?

“I don’t know what the answers are yet. Whatever few memories I have of my parents are _precious_ to me.” She glances down, focused entirely on her shoes. They’re a pair of beat up Converse that she’s had for three years. “I’ve always been afraid of looking at them more clearly because of what I might find. And by writing them down… I had to face them. But in doing so, there’s no longer any danger of forgetting.”

She pauses.

“Kylo, I just want to say…”

She looks back up at him. Kylo has leaned forward ever so slightly, his ear tilted in her direction to better hear her. When she inhales, their eyes meet, and they both sit still at the anticipation of Rey’s next few words.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For believing in me in ways I didn’t ever expect.”

He stares at her with wide eyes that are infinitesimally sad.

Rey thinks of Plutt: a fat-faced man who never expected her to get anywhere, who never wanted anything out of her except her free labor. Rey thinks of her indifferent teachers, of indifferent adults, who only saw her as the junkrat she was. Rey thinks of old friends whose only dreams were to leave and go as far, far away as possible, even if it meant kicking away childish dreams.

Rey thinks of Kylo, of Professor Ren, and the way he _looks_ at her: as if he really, truly sees.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” she finishes quietly. She swallows, and she hears her own throat in her ears.

Kylo’s fingers curl on his desk.

“Anyone who doesn’t believe in you is an idiot,” he says. “And anyone who leaves you is—is worthless.”

Rey shakes her head. “ _Kylo_ , please don’t.”

He looks at her then, those eyes shining with an emotion she can’t quite place. She notices that his hand has clenched into a fist.

“To be abandoned by someone you trust,” he says, voice tight. “Is the worst betrayal of them all.”

The bell rings, cutting sharply through the air between them. Rey’s lips part in a whisper, but her voice is drowned out by the noise. Kylo stares at her, his jaw trembling—

And Rey realizes, with horrified certainty, that both of them have confessed something secret and essential to each other without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ozymandias](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias)
> 
> This chapter is now a turning point in the fic. Next week will reveal something different ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An absence.

She gives up on going to his office with pretence.

He’s always there when she enters, anyway. Sometimes she arrives with a question, or a comment, or nothing at all, and the worst Kylo does is offer a flat-voiced quip or a disbelieving eye. _Does she have nothing better to do?_ is the unvoiced question. And _there’s nothing wrong with hanging out with a friend in my free time_ is her unvoiced answer.

Because there is an unvoiced balance between them. It’s all the more clearer, Rey thinks, when they’re doing nothing at all.

Today she sits lazily in her usual chair, her legs slung over the armrest. Kylo doesn’t bother complaining about that anymore. Her textbook is propped up on her lap, and she turns the pages slowly, digesting diagrams and theorems. She sighs as the chapter draws to a close, and then lolls her head backwards to lessen the crick in her neck.

The clock on the wall shows that only twenty minutes have passed. Rey turns her head and sees Kylo deeply engrossed in a novel. It’s a title she’s never heard of before, and the author’s name is vaguely Eastern European. She isn’t interested enough to ask.

Kylo turns the page and then pushes his glasses up his nose. Perhaps because he feels her stare, he glances upwards and meets her eyes. Rey offers a smile and a shrug, which he only returns with a tiny stretch of his lips.

And then they both look back down to their respective books. Rey stretches out an arm and then squints her eyes, wondering why the author spent ten pages discussing something that he had summarized in one paragraph.

Oh well. Only two more chapters to go.

Nobody ever bothers them here.

 

 

It’s Rose that shows it to her.

They’re gathered on their old couch. Finn is busy making popcorn in the kitchen—or rather, watching the microwave so that it doesn’t get set on fire like _last time_ —and so there’s nobody else to see Rey as she drops the potato chip that was halfway to her mouth.

Rose only stares at her, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Is this real?” Rey asks, voice high. Rose only nods.

“It should be. It’s on the official website.”

The school’s website is displayed on Rose’s phone. Rey squints her eyes and rereads the page, skipping over the bare but familiar lines.

_Kylo Ren, MA_  
_Department of English_  
_Specialization in Poetry_

He doesn’t have a bio. He doesn’t even have a picture, either. Instead, all there is to describe him is a lengthy paragraph about certain books he’s written and awards he’s won. The text is sterile and clinical, and Rey imagines Kylo editing his own page with a sharp knife and an even sharper eye. Despite his long list of achievements, the description is drab and impersonal. Forgettable.

Even if Kylo himself is the farthest thing from that.

The thing Rose has pointed to, of course, is one tiny detail at the bottom of the page. Beside his contact details (a telephone number that Rey is sure would lead to the English Department and not him) is a date of birth.

November 9th.

“That’s in less than a week!” Rey screeches. “He didn’t mention that at all.”

“I doubt anyone knows,” Rose says, putting down her phone. “Or, well, nobody cares to check. But you’ll greet him, won’t you?”

She grins at Rey widely, like a Cheshire Cat.

“Of course I will. And… I should get him a gift, shouldn’t I?” Rey asks, frowning. For most of her life, giving and receiving birthday gifts was a foreign concept. Even Rose and Finn never seemed to mind, but Rey had wanted to show her gratitude for their friendships so badly that she’d found her own way.

When she doesn’t have extra cash to spare for a brand new gift, she often offers a service. Or tries to make something herself. Somewhere deep in Finn’s dresser is a malformed hat that she’d knitted for him once. At the same time, he owns a portable radio she’d nicked from the junk shop at dirt cheap price, considering it was basically garbage. She’d fixed it up for him and offered it with a wide grin.

But what would Kylo like? She thinks about it.

 _Of course_ he enjoys poetry and literature. That’s a given. He drives a sleek, expensive BMW, but he never talks about cars. That’s a shame, Rey thinks, because if he had an interest in machines then it would be one more thing they’d have in common. He always dresses in dark colors, but his clothes are often well-tailored. Probably expensive. His watch looks like it, at least. He likes pastries too.

“I’m sure he’d be happy even if you just remembered,” Rose tells her. “I doubt he’s the materialistic type.”

“He isn’t,” Rey replies, agreeing.

“Don’t worry.” Rose gives a conspiratorial wink. “Just don’t tell him how you discovered it, okay? I bet he’d take the entire webpage down if he knew.”

Rey snorts out a chuckle in agreement.

 

Rose comes over again at Rey’s behest— _request_.

“I don’t get it!” Rey wails. The kitchen is filled with the scent of smoke, with something slightly burning. The oven door lies wide open. It continues to emanate heat. Rose wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t frown. Not completely. Rey looks frazzled enough as it is, and her friend is _usually_ strong about her failures.

“I followed all the instructions carefully,” Rey continues. There’s a whitened spot of cookie dough on her cheek. She walks around the countertop and Rose follows, listening as Rey goes on and on about her experiences.

Finally, they reach the end of the countertop. Rey scowls as she tugs on the edge of a baking tray. Rose finally sees the problem.

They both stare at it quietly for a few moments.

The entire tray is covered in one giant mass, in one piece of malformed cookie. All of the individual pieces have melted together, their edges now blurred and nonexistent. The color is mostly a crisp brown, but it grows black at the surface. When Rose sniffs, she can still smell the bitter burning. Rey reaches out to snap off a tiny piece with her bare fingers.

Rose looks up. She watches Rey inspect the piece, sniff it, and then throw it into her mouth. The girl chews slowly and then swallows.

“Well?” Rose asks.

“It’s salty,” Rey says, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Did you mistake the salt for sugar?” Rose teases. She reaches out to pinch off a piece as well. When she bites into it, she finds the cookie hard and stiff. The taste of char is bitter on her tongue, and the added saltiness makes her wince. Rey groans.

“No, I didn’t. I promise I didn’t,” she replies.

“What else did you put in here?”

“I… don’t remember. I mean, we had most of the ingredients around anyway, so I didn’t think I had to buy any more. Eggs, sugar, butter, flour…”

Rose looks down. The kitchen countertop is a mess of utensils and ingredients. An empty bowl stained with dough lies on its side, dripping out a dollop of cookie dough onto the tabletop. Beside it is a series of cracked eggshells, and as her gaze follows the trail, she finds that it ends on an opened slab of butter.

Rose picks it up.

“Rey,” she interrupts. “You used salted butter.”

Rey’s voice wobbles. “…Does that matter?”

The shorter girl only nods slowly.

“Yes, it does.”

Rey groans again. She throws her head back. “Cookies were supposed to be _safe_. Poe’s little sister bakes cookies all the time. So why can’t I?”

A tiny smile makes its way onto Rose’s lips. She tries her hardest not to laugh, but Rey is making that difficult.

“I’m more surprised that you’re going through all this effort,” she says. She even notes the way Rey refuses to look at her, how she purses her lips and glows faintly pink at her ears.

“His birthday is tomorrow, right?” Rose continues, gentler this time. Rey glances back at her again, and those eyes are wide and pleading. Rose finally laughs, and the sound rings clear throughout the tiny kitchen. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you out. Paige and I used to bake all the time as kids.”

 _“Thank you,”_ Rey pronounces clearly, staring right into her eyes. “You’re my savior.”

“Don’t mention it. Now hand me an apron before you murder another batch of poor cookies.”

Rey throws the spare apron at her with extra force.

 

 

The autumn air is crisp and cold, attacking everyone with a barrage of chill. Rey pulls her scarf higher up her face, and then cradles the plastic container of cookies under her arm.

She shifts on her feet. She’d been dismissed quite late from her last lab, so the clock is ticking. It’s nearing the time that she usually drops into Kylo’s office. Of course, there’s no harm in being late—she knows he’ll be there anyway; he never seems to run out of things to work on or read. Still, today’s date is emblazoned on her mind in bold red letters.

November ninth. Kylo’s birthday.

His office is on the other end of campus. It’s a shame that the engineering building is so far away from the English Department, but that’s just her petulance talking. She takes in a deep breath while she’s still shielded by a roof, and then takes a step forward and powers through the open air. The wind hits her face instantly, but she walks on, stomping all the while.

Students walk around leisurely, most of them with their coats zipped up or carrying hot drinks. Rey weaves in through the thinning crowd, her mind only focused on one goal. She hopes that the cookies are still warm inside the container. Rose had even helped her wrap them in wax paper to prevent them sticking together.

(Rose, clearly, is her savior twice now)

The sun is high even in the late noon. Rey walks into the right building with increased speed, hoping to get back into some warmth. As soon as she enters she breathes a sigh of content, the wind from the heaters automatically thawing out her fingers. She tugs down her scarf and then carefully climbs the stairs towards her destination.

The building is mostly quiet. A student crosses her by the landing. She gets up on the right floor and doesn’t pass anyone else. The English Department is silent but well-lit from the inside. Rey rushes past it and heads towards that familiar little office, that spare room tucked into the back end of the hallway.

Kylo’s office door is completely closed. She stops in place, right in front of it, and takes in a deep breath. Rey shifts the cookies from underneath her arm and carries it in her right hand. She glares at the door, weighing the greeting on her tongue. Should she surprise him? Or should she do it casually, and then refuse to speak up when he demands to know where she’d learned that about him?

She wants to surprise him.

The revelation makes her swallow down a nervous tick.

Rey shakes her head. It’s just Kylo. He’ll be embarrassed but then everything will go on like normal. She grabs the doorknob and turns it, only to find that it won’t budge. She blinks.

She tries again. It’s locked.

“Professor Ren?” she calls out. Rey knocks on the door twice and then steps backwards. Everything is silent. Nobody responds. “Professor Ren?” she calls out again.

He doesn’t respond.

Rey frowns. She presses her ear against the wooden door and bites her lips. She breathes silently, but she can’t hear anything from inside. When she steps backwards, she looks down and realizes that no light peeks from underneath his door either.

He isn’t here then?

She looks down at the container of cookies in her hand. They’ll grow cold at this rate.

Did he go out to celebrate for once? Maybe he had a nice birthday lunch and decided to stay out late. Maybe he decided to stay home in bed because of this horrible weather.

A million excuses filter through Rey’s head. She brings out her phone from her pocket and unlocks it, her fingers shaking when she opens a familiar contact.

_Me: Happy birthday! You aren’t at your office. I can’t greet you in person :(_

The message is sent. Rey shuffles on her feet.

_Me: I got you something. Surprise! I’ll leave it on your desk tomorrow._

_Have to get to class early for that_ , she muses. _So nobody else will see._

Rey looks back at the closed door. She bites her lip and then turns around, only to see that there’s nobody else in the corridor. The English Department remains woefully bright.

_Could he be inside?_

She considers going inside to check. But if he _is_ inside, then why isn’t he replying to her texts? And would he really appreciate receiving a gift from a student while all of his colleagues can see? If his reputation is really like what she’s heard… then she wouldn’t want anyone to question him.

The idea of asking for him inside makes her heart beat furiously. Rey waits for a few more seconds, but upon realizing that he’s going to neither reply nor arrive, she decides to leave.

She supposes she’ll see him in class tomorrow.

 

 

She gets caught up on finishing a project for her previous class, so by the time Rey makes it to the classroom for Introduction to Romantic Poetry, she’s only got twenty seconds left to spare. With disappointment, she realizes that over half of the room has already filled. But that isn’t a problem. The cookie container is snug in her backpack. She figures she can wait until everyone’s left and give it to him then.

Rose is already seated. Rey makes her way up to her and greets the shorter girl with a smile.

“You’re planning to give them to him today?” Rose whispers once Rey has taken her seat. Rey nods, glancing at her backpack as she sets it down in front of her. Rose is grinning so widely that she’s growing nervous again.

“Yeah, after class,” Rey replies. “I hope he doesn’t rush off this time.”

“Did you warn him in advance?”

“Yes, I did.” Rey frowns. “He hasn’t replied yet, so I don’t know if he got my text or not.”

Rose offers a sympathetic smile. “He probably just forgot to. I’m sure you’ll get to give them to him soon.”

Rey nods. They continue chatting, surrounded by the noise of other students. The classroom grows lively and jovial, and Rey doesn’t realize how much time has passed until she overhears someone whooping from the front row.

“Only ten minutes until we’re allowed to leave,” a guy in front says. “I hope he won’t show up.”

The one next to him laughs. “Don’t jinx it, man.”

Rey looks out towards them. She frowns, and the longer she thinks, the more something heavy begins to settle in her gut. It’s illogical, so she tries to bat it away. But it continues to sit there, unmoving like a stone.

“He’s never late,” she murmurs.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Rose replies.

“Eight minutes!”

Rey frowns.

“Seven—“

“Oh, shut up,” a high-pitched voice snaps. It’s Blondie who sits in front. “We get the point. You don’t have to start yapping every minute.”

“Aww, missing him already?”

Blondie rolls her eyes. “I want to leave too, but I’d prefer it if you shut up.”

“Hey, guys,” another girl calls out. She sits at the opposite end of Rey’s row. “Check your emails. He sent us something.”

Rose digs out her phone and begins typing with a curious curl of the lip. Rey watches her instead of checking for herself. After a minute, Rose hums.

“What is it?” Rey asks. Rose shows her the screen of her phone.

“Looks like class is cancelled.”

_To my students,_

_We won’t be meeting for the rest of this week. Read the module on Wordsworth. We’ll resume lessons again on Wednesday._

There’s the noise of chairs scraping and bags thudding against desks. Students begin to leave, and the noise grows to an amiable chatter. Someone pulls the door open, allowing others to exit more quickly. Rey watches them with increasing disappointment.

“Sorry, Rey,” Rose mumbles. “I guess something came up.”

“He didn’t say why,” Rey wonders.

Rose shrugs, unsure of how else to reply.

“Come on. Want to hang out for a while?”

“Sure.”

Rey nods, but while they make their way outside, she brings out her phone.

_Me: Are you okay? You didn’t say why classes were cancelled_

_Me: You better be enjoying your birthday week!_

Kylo still hasn’t responded to her previous messages. Rey shoves her phone back into her pocket and frowns.

The horrible feeling is back. It continues to swirl in her gut.

 

 

Rey drops the container of cookies onto the table with a dull clatter. At the exact same moment, Finn and Rose look up at her. She frowns.

“I don’t know why I bothered to check again. He wasn’t at his office yesterday either,” she says, pulling out a chair and then sliding into it. Finn stares at the cookies with a confused brow.

“Office?” Finn asks. “I thought you said you were baking these for a friend.”

Rose snorts. Rey only pouts and crosses her arms over her chest.

“They _are_ for a friend.”

“Who?”

Rey mumbles out her response. “Professor Ren.”

Finn produces a noise that makes him sound like he’s choking. His eyes are wide. “Professor _Ren_? Professor _Byron_? That terror of an English professor? Him? A _friend_?”

Rey rolls her eyes. Rose slumps backwards, lifting a hand to hide her smile. Finn splutters out again.

“When did this happen?” he asks.

“We’ve been friends for a while,” she replies. “I told you I bump into him outside of class sometimes, remember? He’s a regular at the café too. Paige knows.”

“I don’t see how professor-that-frequents-where-I-work automatically results in friendship and birthday cookies, Rey.”

“We’ve talked too. Obviously.”

“About _what_?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Literature,” Rose intervenes. She’s smiling secretly now, almost giddily. She offers Rey a mischievous glance. “Remember how Rey’s been reading more and more lately? Well…”

“It’s interesting,” Rey interrupts before Finn can form any other misconceptions. “I mean, poetry isn’t as bad as I originally thought. He recommended me some books.”

Finn looks like he’s in a permanent state of shock. “You? Rey Kenobi? Reading poetry? Who are you and what have you done to my friend?”

Rey bursts into laughter. “Is it really weird for me to like it?”

“You used to rant about how much you _hated_ Romantic Poetry.”

“I still do hate most of it. But that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before—before I learned more about it.” Rey huffs. “Anyway, enough of that. These cookies are close to a week old by now. We might as well just eat them all.”

Finn makes a pinched expression. She senses that he wants to ask her something further, but instead he just offers her a silent, questioning eye. She hopes that he’ll continue to be satisfied by that answer. Rey opens the plastic container and Rose automatically peeks inside, marvelling at its contents.

“I can’t believe the cookies survived you carrying them around every day for a week straight,” she whistles. Rey shrugs. She reaches out to get one.

“I was careful.” She takes a bite and then blinks, her eyes widening. “Oh, wow. These are _good_.”

Rose happily takes a bite as well. Finn takes one too. “See?” she says, chewing. “I knew you had it in you.”

Finn nods. “Even I’m surprised. Great job, peanut.”

Rey grins.

 

 

It’s only a week. But a week of silence after days of constant company and conversation leaves her wanting, like there’s an empty hole in her chest—something wide and gaping, yearning.

Rey kicks up leaves at her own misery.

It wouldn’t have bothered her if he was just busy. She understands that. They’re friends, but he’s also a professor; he has much more responsibilities than she does. Even she has to admit that she’s bad at maintaining contact; she has to rely on her other friends to drag her to gatherings or message her after a long bout of absence.

But this radio silence from Kylo is strangely worrying.

She does her morning jog with all of these thoughts filling her head instead of her usual music playlist. She can’t help the spikes of anxiety that fill her gut. The simplest things remind her of him: the book on her table that she still hasn’t returned to him, the box of bagels in the café, and even Finn’s dark umbrella that hangs near their front door.

The mist is still thick in this early morning. Rey sighs and looks up. The park is just as empty as it should be at this time of the day. She slows down from her jog and looks around, catches nothing but orange-bled trees and dewy grass, a gray sky and fog rumbling in the horizon. She cuts through a footpath and treads on the grass, her sneakers silent as she shuffles through the ground.

There’s a small pond up ahead. Rey walks towards it, knowing that the water will be too cold, but she wants to stand by it anyway. Birds caw overhead, tilting their beady eyes at her curiously. She ignores them and moves onwards.

As she approaches, she notices that she isn’t alone. Another figure stands by the pond. Another person, tall and dark-haired, their body wrapped in black. Her breath hitches as she watches them. That black coat looks familiar, and surely, he lives nearby, so perhaps—

The man turns around, his side-profile now visible. He shuffles away from the pond, a loaf of bread peeking out from a brown paper bag in his hand. His hair _is_ dark, but it isn’t as long, isn’t as curled. His face is older and more sallow, that jaw rounder than she’s used to. His gait is stiff as well with his age.

It isn’t Kylo. Rey wants to hit herself for her foolish hopes.

She turns around instead and continues her walk. When she’s gone round half of the circumference of the park, she jogs towards a bench and takes a seat.

All around her is the silence of nature: nothing but the distant flap of wings, a muffled caw, a branch slapping against another in the wind.

She brings out her phone and sends another text.

_Me: Kylo, are you all right?_

He hasn’t even seen the previous message she’d sent. Rey sighs and then returns her phone back into her pocket. She stares into the distance, her mind brewing with worry.

There’s just one more place she hasn’t checked.

 

The corridor is deathly silent.

Rey hesitates before peeking inside. There’s a glass window on the door to the English Department, and a faint stream of electric light illuminates it from the inside. She grips the doorknob with hesitation, squeezes hard, and then turns it. The door opens with a creak.

Nobody seems to be inside. Rey steps in for a single moment, letting the door close softly behind her. If she looks far enough, she can catch rows and columns of seemingly empty cubicles. She swallows.

There’s no other noise except that of her footsteps and the dull whirring of the heater. She shifts on her feet, the disappointment drowning in her gut like a giant sinking stone.

“May I help you?”

Rey spins around in a flash. A woman appears from a door to her right. She’s incredibly tall, perhaps even taller than Kylo, and has short, closely-cropped blonde hair. Her icy blue eyes pierce right through Rey, and she has to swallow before speaking, or else she’ll stumble over her words.

“I was just looking for someone,” Rey explains. “I don’t think he’s here, so I’ll just go…”

She gestures to leave. The woman raises a single brow, sharp and well-defined.

“Who are you looking for?” she asks, leaning her elbow against a table.

“Professor Ren,” Rey answers weakly.

At that moment, the woman’s brows rise in surprise. She stares Rey down, head tilting to the side in careful consideration. Rey blinks back, unsure of what that reaction even means. The air is still between them.

The woman hums.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Rey Kenobi.”

Something akin to amusement flashes in her blue eyes. The side of the woman’s mouth twitches, but Rey isn’t sure what expression she’s making. She turns away to grab something at the top of the desk. Rey can’t see what it is.

“Wait a moment,” she murmurs. She’s writing something down, but Rey can’t read it.

Finally, the woman finishes. She approaches, and Rey has to crane her neck to look up at her. She’s definitely much taller up close.

The woman presses a piece of paper into Rey’s hand as she speaks, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

“He’s not here right now,” she tells her, a strange smile playing on her lips. “But I think I have what you’re looking for. It’s Rey, right?”

Rey nods, though she doesn’t know what the other woman’s talking about.

“Good luck,” the woman finally says, pulling away. She turns around, her head turned to glance at Rey for one final goodbye. “You’ll need it.”

She returns back to the room she came from, and the department is silent and empty once more.

Rey looks down at the paper in her hands, scrutinizes it, and then feels her entire face flush with heat when she realizes what’s on it.

There’s an address.

And above it is Kylo’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember whether or not I've beta'd this, so I apologize for any awkward writing. Judging by my outline, this fic will have 21 chapters, but that's a _tentative_ number and might change in the future.
> 
> Since we don't know when Kylo's birthday is, I wanted to use Adam Driver's (November 19th). However, that date would be too late into the semester (look, plot!), so I changed it slightly. He's still a Scorpio. 
> 
> Lastly, check out this [delicious Professor Ren and Rey edit](https://mobile.twitter.com/softsithlord/status/1001830684854435840) (slightly NSFW)! It wasn't made for this fic specifically but it is beautiful and I can't stop watching it <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unraveling.

She expects a grand house made of brick and stone, perhaps one with a garden or a trellis of vines. She also expects a bachelor pad in a skyscraper condominium—his studio on the top floor so he’ll have solitude and a fantastic view of the city.

Both of these, of course, are incorrect.

According to Google Maps, Kylo lives barely half an hour away from the university campus. Rey herself can walk there, and that’s _good_ , because she doesn’t have a ride and wouldn’t dare ask any of her friends to drive her. She doesn’t even know why she’s hiking to his house in the middle of the day. His address is on a tiny, torn slip of paper, yet it’s heavy in her back pocket.

They’re friends, aren’t they? Friends get worried when they vanish into thin air.

When she reaches an old-fashioned townhouse, Rey brings out the address again and cross-checks it on her phone. She’s in exactly the right spot. The townhouse looks like it’s been converted into an apartment complex, with each unit on a separate floor. The building is tall and dark, made of red brick and imposing stone. Even with only three floors, it towers above her like a monument. Rey feel so small, so out of place.

She glances to the side and sees Kylo’s familiar car parked beside the sidewalk. Near it is a black garbage can that’s fallen over, toppled onto its side. Thankfully, it’s empty, and no trash litters the street. But the side of the container is dented and so is its lid. Rey frowns.

She quietly approaches the front door. He lives on the first floor, and his door is the nearest. A bird chirps in the distance, nestled high up in the trees. She takes in a deep breath, inhales and exhales, before ending it in a sigh. The street is quiet, with streams of sunlight still filtering in from the late noon. She raises her hand and presses the doorbell, listening to the musical sound that rings from inside.

Rey shifts on her feet. She wonders if she should’ve texted him first.

No, that would be useless. He’s not replying or reading them anyway.

After standing there for close to five minutes, Rey realizes that nobody’s coming. She rings the doorbell again, more aggressively this time, as her remaining hand clenches into a fist. Seconds pass, the ominous silence accompanied by an unfittingly pleasant breeze, and Rey wonders if she should knock on the door.

However, she doesn’t have to.

Finally, heavy footsteps ring out from inside. Rey perks up and listens. The door swings open and the entryway grows dark. A deep voice begins to speak but then it cuts itself off.

Rey looks up at Kylo with wide eyes. Her mouth falls open in surprise.

He looks like shit.

He stares back at her, his hand still on the door. On his head is a mess of curls, barely brushed and sticking in all directions. His skin is deathly pale, with splotches of red interrupting certain spots. She catches a small red slice on his cheek, perhaps from a razor.

But his eyes, and his pale lips—

His eyes are dark and clouded like a storm even behind those glasses. The circles underneath them are bruised purple, large and heavy. It makes him look gaunt and most certainly miserable. His lip curls into an exhausted scowl, and Rey is afraid that he’ll close the door in her face.

“Kylo,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse. His jaw clenches.

“I… I’ve been worried about you. Is something wrong?”

“No,” he murmurs. He shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong. Go home, Rey.”

He moves to close the door and Rey jams it with her foot. She grabs the doorframe and leans in closer, scowling up at Kylo as she gets into his personal space. He stares down at her, brows furrowed.

“Rey,” he repeats, this time with more force. “I’m fine. Go home.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been busy. Please leave—“

“I’ve been worried sick about you!” she exclaims. “And you just tell me to leave? You haven’t even been reading my texts. You haven’t been going to class. I haven’t seen you at the noodle shop or the café or… or anywhere. You could’ve been _dead_ for all I know!”

“Why does that matter?!” he barks out, voice echoing in the doorway between them. He slams his fist against the wall and Rey feels as if the entire foundation shakes with his might. Rey freezes, her eyes growing wide. Kylo’s eyes grow wide too, and something flashes across his face—the hint of fear. His shoulders fall. He steps backwards.

“It matters to me,” Rey says, her voice tight. She tries to control her tone. “Kylo, what’s wrong? I’ve told you all about me. You should know that you can tell me too.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I can’t tell you. Not now.”

“At least let me…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back next week. I just need more time…”

“More time for what?” She slides in before he can slam the door closed. Kylo stares down at her, his lip curled. But not in disgust, and not even in anger anymore.

He seems resigned. Disappointed. Like a stray animal curled up on its side, desperate for sleep. He grips the doorframe with extra force, and when Rey looks at his hand, she catches the shadow of bruises on his knuckles.

Rey’s heart clenches in her chest.

“I want to help you,” she whispers. “Please tell me.”

He looks down at her, the light dancing in his brown-speckled eyes. Rey glances up wordlessly, her lips parting, hoping that he’ll let her in. Something small flashes through his gaze and Rey chases it… only to be disappointed when he takes another step away from her, as if burned.

“It’s too late,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing to be helped.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kylo takes in a deep breath. She waits patiently, her eyes trained on his face, on each minute movement of the muscles in his jaw. He’s lost in thought, that gaze distant and solemn. So far away.

They’re standing so close, and yet Rey has never felt any farther.

He speaks again, but his voice is lifeless, and he stares intently at an invisible spot on the wall instead of at her.

“You don’t know, do you? You’ve never known.”

“Don’t know _what_?”

“That I’m a murderer.”

The words hit Rey’s chest like a block of solid concrete. The breath is extinguished from her lungs. She stares up at him with wide-eyes, with goosebumps forming on her skin. Inside of her head is a siren screech, a red alarm bell that screams _no, no, no_.

“What?” she murmurs, her voice hitched. She can’t manage more than a whisper. She must have misheard. She must have.

“I killed my father ten years ago,” he replies flatly. Those eyes refuse to meet hers. He sounds like he’s in a trance, as if these words have been long-rehearsed. As if he’s reciting a boring grocery list instead of confessing to a heinous crime. She wishes he would _look_ at her. “It’s been ten years starting this week. Now you know, just like everyone else. And now you can leave.”

He turns away from her quickly, perhaps sensing the tiny movement of her arm—she had wanted to hold onto him, not _hurt_ him. Kylo flees with great speed, those footsteps oddly silent against the floorboards. Rey is too stunned to move, and she can only look on. Rey stares at his back, stares at his bowed head, at his hand that leans on the wall for a moment of support. He turns into a room at the end of the corridor.

And then he’s gone in a flash, the hallway empty once more as if he hadn’t been there from the start.

But she doesn’t hesitate.

Rey closes the door behind her and goes inside. It shuts with a loud bang. She follows.

 

Rey’s footsteps echo heavily against the wooden floorboards. She hears no other sound.

Of course, there’s also that jackhammer in her chest. Her heart pounds with increasing frequency, and the drumbeat is heavy in her ears. But the ice-cold dread that washes over her body is less for her and more for _him._

She can’t imagine it. No way is he a murderer. No way can he kill anyone, much less his own father. She must have misheard. She must have misheard—

She didn’t mishear him.

The second option is one that she’s more familiar with. It must have been in self-defense. Of course, of course. Kylo is a large man, but he was barely an adult ten years ago. If his father was ruthless or cruel, or perhaps he—

There’s an entire string of logic that unfolds in her head. But at the same time, Rey can’t help it: that spike of betrayal. Even she had never raised a hand against Plutt, even when she’d wanted to. What would it have been like to even _have_ a father, and then destroy everything, and then _kill him in cold blood_ —

_You don’t know that. You don’t know that._

_Then why did he look so guilty? Ten years and he looked so guilty._

Her feet shuffle onwards as if on autopilot.

The room at the very end of the hallway is a small living room. An overhead light has been left on, but the rest of the room is quiet and still, like dust settling in after a storm. The room is almost spartan in its bareness, with nothing to mark it as Kylo’s besides the occasional piles of books and papers scattered on the coffee table and on an armchair. But the more she looks, the more things seem _wrong_ , and Rey is hit with an odd sense of alarm—as if this room is frozen in time.

“Kylo?” she calls out. Nobody responds. She looks around slowly, peeking out at the rest of the room.

There’s an imprint of a telephone on the wall. That rectangular patch of paint is fainter than the rest of the room. But the wires have been pulled away violently, leaving an empty socket. When Rey looks down, she finds that she’s almost stepped on the plastic phone; it lies on the floor, receiver separated from its cradle, the device halfway across the room as if it had been thrown from its position.

She can’t help it. She approaches that patch of unpainted wall.

It’s right above a table of giant coffee table books. But there’s also something peeking out from behind the bookends. She wouldn’t have realized it was there if she wasn’t already looking. When she approaches, she pulls it out from behind the tomes.

It’s a fallen picture frame, placed face-down onto the tabletop. Rey reaches for it carefully, avoiding the pieces of cascaded glass that litter the surface and the floor below. She pushes it back up with just the tips of her fingers and comes face to face with a crumpled photograph.

She blinks.

It’s a wedding photograph. An older one. The woman in the picture is young and small and youthful, her belly ballooned underneath a beautiful white gown. But she’s glowing and she laughs with a lovely smile, with lovely red lips. Something about her is painstakingly familiar: it must be the eyes, or the shade of her hair, or even the shape of her face.

And the man beside her has an arm around her waist. He’s taller, with a handsome, rugged face and browned hair. His grin is cocky but his hand on the woman’s belly is soft, those fingers splayed protectively.

Rey is staring hard at the woman’s face again when she makes the connection.

It’s Senator Leia Organa-Solo.

The man next to her is her deceased husband Han Solo, a famous auto mechanic and flashy race car driver.

He had died ten years ago under mysterious circumstances, with Senator Organa-Solo only stating that he had been stabbed in a robbery gone wrong.

Something horrid begins to click in place inside of her head.

Rey runs out of the room, a sensation of nausea crawling up her throat. She wonders then if she should leave just as Kylo had begged her to, because there’s an uncomfortable revelation that’s starting to unfurl through her head…

Only when she exits the room and blindly enters the next one, she looks up to find Kylo standing opposite her, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. He stands still and monolithic in the middle of the kitchen, and it’s as if time freezes as they stare at each other in silence.

Whether it lasts for an entire minute or just for a fraction of her heartbeat she isn’t sure. They hold each other’s gazes, and Kylo’s is questioning, pained. He must see something in her face—she doesn’t know _what_ face she’s making—because he looks away first and then swallows, that Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat. He runs a hand through his hair and grips the roots, voice coming out strained before he drops his hand again. Rey notes that the bandages on his knuckles are fresh and bone-white against the paleness of his skin. They hadn’t been there before.

“Rey,” he murmurs, still not looking at her. “I thought you left. I heard the door. I _told_ you to leave.”

“I didn’t,” she replies. She wants to ask him questions, wants to ask _everything_ , but he looks like a hunted animal—and she’s afraid that he’ll bolt again. She stands her ground and doesn’t dare move closer even when she’s itching to, even when every inch of her skin is magnified with an electric frenzy. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Rey.” He sighs with his entire body, with a full breath. He shakes, and Rey isn’t sure if he’s about to laugh or cry. He finally looks at her, and what Rey sees is a tired, fragile man. “What are you really doing here?”

“I already told you, didn’t I?” She doesn’t break eye contact. She strides towards him, not even pausing when she catches him flinch. Rey raises her chin and stares at him in the eyes, barely an arm’s length between them. “I was worried about you, and now you’re telling me that you _killed_ someone? That you killed your _father_? Did you really think I’d leave you after I’ve seen you like this? What kind of person do you think I am?!”

Her voice rises in a high-pitched scream. She can’t help it. The longer she stares at him, the more she sees the resemblance; he truly could be Leia Organa-Solo and Han Solo’s son. His age is right for it too. The anger slowly froths underneath her skin. Rey clenches her hands into fists.

She had spilled everything to him. She had confessed it all: everything about her deepest fears, her past, her future. She had hoped that he would do the same. And to think he’d hidden this from her: such a central fact of his _identity_ —

And that he only blinks at her with wide eyes behind those glasses, that he isn’t replying…

“Kylo,” she says, her voice low. “Who are you?”

It makes sense, doesn’t it? She had Googled him before, and there was nothing much about _Kylo Ren_ outside of academic and poetic circles. Outside of his professional achievements. He’s a private man, but even for private men there should be a trace.

Her chest heaves, and she prevents herself from speaking any further because she knows her voice will shake. She stares at him and he only looks down pathetically, and it angers her even more—because it makes her heart ache. This is the same man that had driven her home in the rain. This is the same man that offered her an umbrella, that lent her his book, that offered to keep her company over the holidays. This is the same man who she had sat next to for multiple nights in that noodle shop as they talked about everything and nothing at all. This is the same man who had encouraged her to write, to _share her feelings and her past_. This is the same man who had mystified her with his darkness, and then made her realize that she wasn’t alone, not if Kylo was there too.

Somewhere along the line she had subconsciously stopped thinking of him as her professor. Sure, she called him that in class, but it was just a title, wasn’t it? It didn’t mean anything.

They were supposed to be equals. He knew her ghosts, and she knew that he had his—but to deny her even the truth of one gigantic detail…

“My birth name is Ben Solo,” he says. “My parents are Han and Leia Organa-Solo. I think… I think you already know what that means.”

Rey’s lip quivers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t have treated me the same!” he exclaims. The fury is ripped out of his body, and for a moment Rey rises to meet him. But she realizes that he isn’t angry at her; he’s angrier at himself. He glares at the wall, his hands clenched into fists again, and he grips the edge of the nearby countertop so tightly that the muscles in his wrist clench.

“My entire life,” he continues, his voice low and boiling with heat. “I’ve been defined by my family name. Everyone expected certain things from me—most of all my parents. But you know what? I could never meet them. I was never worthy of being a Solo or a Skywalker. I was just a problem child from day one. And, and,” he laughs. It’s dry and airy, almost like a wheeze or a hacking cough. “My biggest disappointment was what I did ten years ago. You get it, don’t you? That’s when I changed my name. I had to.”

Rey swallows. She finds that her throat is dry.

“Your parents loved you,” she says. She faintly remembers Senator Organa-Solo appearing on radio shows and television, in press conferences and magazine articles. The woman had gushed about her beloved son, about her sweet little _Ben_. Was that man this one now; was that still him, that Ben with the crooked smile and dorky ears? Oh, Rey had loved—

Rey loves Kylo’s smile. She shakes her head. “You actually had parents. You actually had a family that cared. I thought… I thought you were abandoned by them like I was. I thought you understood how I felt. I thought we were _the same!_ Was that a lie? Was that a lie too?”

Kylo’s head whips back to hers. His eyes are so frenzied that she almost flinches.

“No,” he breathes. “No, no, Rey, I never lied about that. I could never lie about that to you. Everything I’ve told you about how I feel or think is real. Please—“

“I told you everything about myself! I told you how I was so used to being alone because I _had_ to be used to it! I told you about my parents! I told you…” she hacks out a sob and Rey hates herself for the way her vision blurs and her hands shake. “Don’t you get it? You’re the first person to know _everything_ about me. And it turns out that what I’ve known about you was… was a fabricated lie—“

Kylo moves forward. Rey steps away from him but she’s too late. His hands are large on her shoulders. He holds her in place, forcing her to look up. And when Rey looks up, her sob dies in her throat. Kylo’s eyes are wide and watery, hazel glimmering beneath his lenses. He pleads to her with tumbling words, and she’s sure that he’s barely even aware of the strength of his grip.

“Rey, Rey, Rey, please look at me.”

She’s looking at him. She’s looking. His voice is hushed.

“Please don’t… Everything you know about me, about who I _really_ am deep down inside, is true. I promise. And you’re the only person… who knows all of that. Hate me for what I’ve done but please don’t hate me for the lies, because I’ve been nothing but honest to you about what I feel—“

“And _what_ do you feel?!” she shouts. He releases her and Rey hates it suddenly, hates the feeling of cold air against her arms. The absence of his touch burns harder than its presence. She stares up at him, biting down another retort as she watches him flounder like a goldfish. He opens his mouth but can’t reply.

Rey sniffs and pulls away from him.

“What do you feel?” she repeats in a whisper. Kylo only stares at her blankly.

The air grows cold around them.

“Can’t tell me that either?” she asks plainly. Kylo shakes his head furiously, his shoulders frozen stiff. His hands hang on his sides and his fingers twitch as if he’d been burned. Rey grits her teeth.

“I’m sorry, Rey.”

His voice is so forlorn, so _resigned_ , that Rey takes one step forward. They’re only inches away now, and even when she glares up at him, she finds that there is no anger in his gaze. No fury; all of it has melted away. He only stares down at her with… fear.

His eyes are large and illuminated behind his glasses.

“You’re the one who told me that facing the truth makes you stronger,” she says. “So tell me, Kylo. Tell me the truth. You said that you were honest about your feelings. So prove that _,_ hmm?”

He stares down at her. He works his jaw.

“Rey…”

“Tell me—“

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he replies coldly, teeth flashing. Rey’s jaw drops open, and a blaze of fury erupts through her veins. She clenches her hands into fists at her sides. She flares up in a ball of rage. The entire room glows red.

“You’re really—“

“You were so angry about my identity. But why are you so focused on my _feelings_ now?” Kylo snaps. “What are you aiming for, Rey? What are you hoping to get out of this? You think you can invade my privacy, storm into my house even after I’ve told you to _leave_ , and then demand that I tell you something that would ruin—“

Rey’s mouth quivers. His eyes flash with something mad and terrifying, but he fumbles over his last words, barely even catches them with his lips. Rey feels the hints of a revelation making sense in her head, clicking into place. But Kylo shakes his head again and she can barely speak.

“Kylo,” she whispers. “Kylo, you don’t get it. I was so _worried_ about you. I thought we were closer than this. Why are you doing this? Why won’t you let me in?”

Kylo’s lip quivers in a half-expression. He must be caught between fury and fear; Rey can’t fully tell. She leans up to stare at him, to plead, and she hates her own temper, hates the electric air that sizzles between them.

In one single snap, the man’s expression has closed off.

“Don’t you get it? You’re my _student_ , Rey,” he spits. “I can’t give you what you want.”

Rey steps back as if she’d been slapped in the face. She stares up at him, catches his narrowed eyes. It’s never been a point of contention between them before. She thought that Kylo had seen her at least as an equal, and even as a friend. She doesn’t understand why he’s bringing this up now, why he won’t treat her as she treats him.

His hands are balled into fists.

But if this is how he wants it to go, then fine.

She doesn’t need to cross any boundaries either.

“All I wanted,” she says clearly, voice brimming tightly with the undercurrents of a scream. “Was to be there for you.”

And then she spins away from him and storms out, retracing her steps back to the outside world. Her vision blurs with white heat and despair; everything closes in on her. She exits his apartment and slams the door behind her, only to step onto the sidewalk and be greeted by a chilly wind and a silent afternoon.

Seconds tick by. Rey looks at her hands and realizes that they’re shaking. Her palms have been marred by red crescents: the angry slash of her nails against her skin. She wipes her eyes with her hand and then sniffs.

Her wrist comes back wet with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This had to happen at one point :(


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bottling up and letting go.

The clock ticks by unbearably slowly, and Rey wishes that time would speed up, that this would all end.

Her heart is still heavy inside of her chest. The same thoughts swirl around her mind, clouding her brain like the tail of an endless storm. Each thought echoes out her fears, her newfound knowledge of _him_.

How could she have ever thought that a measly three months would be enough? Was she so blinded by the idea that after two decades of isolation, someone had finally found her, had finally matched her in every way?

Inside of her again is that small, scared little girl. Independent, yes. Self-confident and self-assured. Reliable.

But undeniably alone.

She thought that she could ignore all of it. Return back to scratch. She could rip Kylo Ren out of her life like a band-aid. If only he wasn’t her professor, if only she didn’t have to face him _three times a week_.

The days where she doesn’t have to face him are simple. She violently pushes away any thoughts of him out of her head. But the moment that she steps into his classroom, the moment that she sees him in front of her, real and solid as anything else—

Her heart flips torturously. Traitorously.

It hurts.

“Rey. _Rey_!”

Rey turns her head slowly. Rose makes a face at her.

“Are you going to finish that worksheet any time soon?” the girl whispers, pointing to the paper on Rey’s desk. Rey looks down and sure enough, her worksheet is barely filled in. The upper half is stained with scribbles—unusual because she tends to give meticulous answers—but the lower half remains blank. Rey frowns down at it, gripping her pen in her hand. The words all blur together in front of her, forming one disorganized mass, and she feels sick of it. Sick of everything.

“It’s due in fifteen minutes,” Rose adds. She points to the clock across the room. Rey follows her nose, which is a bad idea, because right below the clock is the teacher’s desk. Professor Ren sits on his chair, his giant figure slumped over the table. He’s busy checking papers with a scowl and an energetic frenzy—she’s sure that he’s failing more people again. Strangely, she doesn’t care about that.

He hasn’t looked up at the class ever since he assigned them this worksheet an entire period ago. Rey isn’t sure if that makes her feel better or worse.

“Are you okay?” Rose asks again, voice coming out softer. Rey looks at her and catches her concerned gaze, her furrowed brows. She swallows down a verbal reply and then nods instead.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Just zoned out for a while.”

She re-reads the questions and finishes the worksheet with sluggish energy. Her pen moves in slow strokes. She finishes her last sentence just as the bell rings and everyone’s heads look up to glance at the front. Rey passes her paper along with the others, and just as everyone’s worksheets are gathered in front, she watches people as they start to leave.

Rose stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Rey does the same, and she can’t help it anymore; she looks forward. Kylo stuffs their worksheets into his satchel before shutting it close, hoisting it over his shoulder, and then rushing out of the classroom with a scowl. He doesn’t look at anyone, doesn’t even say goodbye.

It stings.

As soon as the two girls make their way out of the classroom, Rose speaks up.

“He’s been acting weird ever since he got back last week,” she observes. “Don’t you wonder why?”

Rey only shrugs silently. Rose eyes her friend with concern. They reach an emptier part of the corridor and she glances around to check if there are no other students to hear them. There aren’t.

Upon confirming their privacy, Rose leans towards Rey and says in a furtive whisper, “Are you really okay?” She pauses. “Did something happen between you and Professor Ren?”

Rey freezes. Rose is too perceptive sometimes, but she can’t fault the girl for being worried. Rey works her jaw and answers in the same whisper.

“No,” she replies. “Nothing happened.”

And that’s the problem, she realizes. Nothing happened… but she had wanted something to. She hadn’t even realized until the very end, until they’d both been screaming at each other. She had hoped so desperately, believed so earnestly, that she hadn’t even thought that he would never feel—

“If you need to talk,” Rose continues, patting her arm. “I’m here.”

Rey gives her a sidelong smile. “Thanks.”

They silently head to the nearest student lounge. It’s quieter in this room than in the hallways outside, and within the first few seconds of entering, Rose spots Finn sitting on a couch on the far end of the room. She heads towards him, Rey trailing behind her.

Finn’s face brightens up when he sees the two of them approach. Rose drops her bag onto the floor and flops onto the couch with a groan. Rey takes a seat beside her, acting more delicately, and realizes that Poe is right in front of her. They exchange smiles.

“This workload is _killing_ me,” Rose groans again, sinking deeper into the blue cushions. “I haven’t even studied for tomorrow’s exam yet.”

“What class?” Finn asks. He’s got his laptop propped on his knees.

“History. With Yularen.”

Finn winces. “You can do it.”

“You know what you guys need?” Poe interjects, leaning forward. He offers a wide, charismatic grin. “A break.”

Rose and Finn nod with grumbles of agreement.

“So how about we go drinking tonight?” Poe adds. “Come on.”

Rose grimaces. “Can’t. Sorry. It’s not my thing.”

Poe turns his head towards Finn. He smiles again, more tenderly this time. He tilts his head to the side. “Finn?”

“You know I love going out with you but,” Finn pats his keyboard. “This paper is due tomorrow morning and I’m not even halfway done.”

“Awww, sure?”

“Sure—“

“I’ll go,” Rey interjects. Her voice is oddly perky, and everyone turns to look at her. Rose raises both brows.

“ _Fi-na-lly!_ ” Poe whoops. “I thought you’d reject all my invitations forever. I’m so glad to see you growing up, Rey.”

She snubs her nose at him. “Ha-ha. I can be fun too.”

“I never said you weren’t fun.”

“Good, because I’m going with you.”

Poe grins.

 

 

The bar is loud and crowded, and as soon as Rey steps inside, she can already feel the bass of the drum shaking her bones.

Poe helps her weave around the crowd by guiding her with a hand on her arm. Every few moments he throws someone a distant grin or nod, and Rey isn’t at all surprised that he seems to know half of this crowd.

The music gets louder and louder as they near the counter. Rey steps on someone’s foot and apologizes even before she can hear the yelp. But her voice is drowned out by a techno beat, and Poe’s figure disappears into an endless flash of strobe lights: pinks, reds, green, and then black again—the lights flickering to the tempo of the song. If he hadn’t been holding onto her then she would have gotten lost in the sea of people.

A blonde woman almost elbows her in the face as she lifts her arms up to dance. Rey grimaces and hurries forward, already desperate for a drink. She slices through the crowd without bothering to be pleasant, shoving her way through a mass of loud drunken college students.

Finally, she can take a breath of relatively fresh air once they make their way to the counter. The crowd grows thin here, and she can finally hear herself think. Poe goes up to the bartender to order both of them a drink. He looks over his shoulder and opens his mouth.

“What do you want?” he yells out. Rey shrugs. She hasn’t been here before.

“Surprise me!” she replies. Poe laughs and then turns back to the bartender. He holds up two fingers.

Rey steps aside to get closer to the wall as a couple passes her. They slide up to the counter, hip to hip. The man’s hand snakes around the woman’s waist, his fingers dipping dangerously low down her back. But she only giggles, not even bothering to swat his hand away.

_Ugh._

Poe walks towards her. He’s holding two tall glasses in his hands. They’re both filled with the same orange liquid. It seems quite bright even in the dimness of the room. Rey takes her glass and looks down at it, inspecting its contents.

“What is this?” she asks. Poe stands closer to hear her.

“A real kicker. You look like you need one.”

She snorts and looks up at him. Poe only grins back.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I made sure to dilute yours since this is your first time. It hits pretty hard.”

He has to yell each sentence into her ear. Rey makes out the gist of it though, and she only nods. The song changes and someone whoops into the air, accompanied by the echo of scattered laughter. Rey brings the glass to her nose and sniffs. Poe takes a gulp, so she follows.

And then instantly coughs. Poe claps her back.

“Okay, _wow_.” She swallows it down. The alcohol burns her throat but it leaves an artificial sweetness on her tongue. It tastes sticky and fruity, and she smacks her lips. “What is this? Gasoline?”

Poe throws his head back in laughter.

She takes another sip. The taste isn’t so bad now that she’s anticipated the kick. A pleasant warmth begins to spread all over her body, and she considers removing her jacket. The fruity taste makes it all the more bearable, and before she knows it, she’s devouring the drink in careful sips.

“Woah, woah, there,” Poe says, a hand on her shoulder. “Slow down a bit, yeah?”

Rey nods. “I’ll be fine. You want to dance? Go ahead.”

Poe raises a brow. “Won’t you come with me?”

She shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She nods again and waves him away. Poe claps her on the back before returning to the dance floor, his drink in his hand. It almost spills when he bumps into a bunch of older students. Instead of getting angry though, his face lights up in recognition. A girl greets him with a hug and two guys clap him on the back. He yells something that Rey can’t make out, but everyone laughs at it.

Rey purses her lips. She realizes she’s blocking the way, so she begins to walk the length of the bar, keeping a careful hand on the wall. She takes careful sips every few feet—especially when she has to stand still to make way for other people. A girl’s stiletto misses her toes by a mere centimeter, and Rey grimaces.

She realizes that she can’t go forward anymore without having to go through a tight crowd of people. When the strobe lights hit, all she can see is a sweaty mob: bodies dancing, flying, contorted into tight spaces. Their faces are illuminated with neon, all of their expressions mirroring each other’s as they’re gathered in frenzy. Rey distinctly realizes that she doesn’t know anyone in here.

She needs another drink.

Rey downs the rest of her glass and then heads back to the counter. She clutches her glass close to her chest with a death grip. A drunken boy almost spills his beer on her, missing by mere inches. She glares up at him but he’s barely even realized the potential accident. He just continues to hover over the girl beside him. Rey rolls her eyes and elbows through the crowd, finally making her way to the counter. She takes in a sharp inhale.

She sets her glass back down on the table. The bartender comes up to her and she orders another drink of the same. She focuses on watching him as he refills her drink, and then she throws down enough money to cover it.

_What am I doing here?_

Rey decides she might as well stay here and stew in what relative peace there is. Poe sure does know how to pick his bars, it seems. Rey weighs the refilled glass and then brings it to her lips. When she swallows, she almost coughs it out. It’s much, much stronger this time.

_I made sure to dilute yours_ , Poe had said.

This is definitely the undiluted version. Rey grimaces. How does he drink this?

It’s better than doing nothing, though. Rey nurses her drink silently. She realizes that there’s a stool right beneath the counter, so she tugs it towards her and takes a grateful seat. As soon as she’s seated, she sighs.

The music continues to pound loudly in her eardrums. She sits still, her elbows slumped over the counter as she takes careful sips. She takes to watching the bartender as he makes drinks; he’s pouring out concoctions and shaking them and wiping down the occasional spilled drink.

It’s definitely much more fascinating than being squeezed by the crowd. Rey calls for another drink, and then takes silent sips once it arrives. She considers going back to find Poe, but she’s not nearly drunk enough to even want to brave that battle of a dance floor.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed. Rey only belatedly realizes that a tall figure stands on her right. She looks up at them, about to scoot aside just in case she’s blocking the way, but realizes that it’s a young man. He must be around Poe’s age, or maybe just a year or two older. He’s looking down at her with a pleasant smile.

Rey blinks.

“Hey,” he says. She makes it out from the way his lips move.

“Hey,” Rey replies, confused.

“That’s pretty strong,” he says, gesturing to her drink. “You’re tough.”

“What?”

“I said, _you’re tough_.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

He calls the bartender and orders his own drink. Rey looks away and stares into her own glass. Before she knows it, he’s talking again. She hates the fact that she can actually make out what he’s saying; that means he hasn’t left yet.

“I’m Lee,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Rey.” She takes a sip.

“Cool name.” He grins as the bartender serves him a single beer. Rey stares at his hands instead of his face. She shrugs.

“You don’t like dancing?” he asks loudly, right over a change in song. Rey shakes her head.

“Don’t feel like it,” she replies.

“Neither do I. The crowd gets too crazy for me.”

_Why are you still talking?_

Rey takes a large gulp of her drink. The world explodes in front of her, and she feels all the blood rush to her head. She sniffs.

“My friends just dragged me here, but I’d rather go somewhere quiet. Maybe a place where you can actually strike up a conversation?” His voice is grating against the bass of the new song.

Rey sips quietly. He falters for a moment, but then grins again.

“I’m a Business Major. What about you?” he asks loudly. Rey sighs and looks up at him, about to answer as flatly as she can so that he’ll leave her alone.

“Engineering,” she says. His face brightens up.

“Woah! My brother’s in engineering. That’s cool. You look pretty smart. Ah, pretty _and_ smart.”

She stares back, nonplussed. But the more she stares the more she realizes that she hadn’t had a glimpse of what he truly looked like. She only catches patches of his face from the strobe lights and from what little white light is emanated by the bar. This guy—Lee?—is tall and fit. She can see the hint of muscles underneath his baseball shirt. His hair is dark and wavy, and it falls in gentle curls around the shell of his ear. When he smiles, his entire face lights up and—

He reminds her of Kylo.

Rey looks away. She pushes her glass aside; it’s mostly empty now, anyway.

“I have to go,” she says. Lee raises a concerned brow. She stands up from the stool and wobbles, her feet almost sliding from underneath her. He reaches out to grab her arm, to help support her, but she pulls away violently. He flinches.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Want me to call your friends?”

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I just need some air.”

Rey leans on the countertop. She grips the edge and takes in a deep breath to steady herself. The lights are piercing, and they’re starting to give her a headache. She scans the crowd, looking for Poe. Lee continues to hover beside her.

She finally spots Poe standing in the middle of a crowd to the side. He’s dancing with his arms raised high up in the air. Everyone joins him, and when the light shines on his face Rey realizes he’s grinning wide despite the sweat that trails down his face.

He’s having fun.

Rey turns away and rushes to the exit, elbowing away stranger after stranger. Her legs are slightly wobbly, but the crowd is dense enough that she can prop herself up if she slips or falls. The exit seems much too far away, but it’s all she focuses on—all she stares at.

Finally, she reaches the exit. Rey almost runs out of the door. As soon as she’s outside, a cool breeze hits her and she takes in a deep breath. Gone is the heat from being crowded inside, and the loud music is just din in her ears now. It grows muffled as she walks away.

The entrance to the bar snakes behind a back alley. The walls are high and cramped, even filthy. Rey steps over a broken beer bottle, avoiding the glass shards. Right at the end of the alley is a group of people smoking, and she holds her hand up to her nose when she passes.

The scent of cigarette smoke clings to her. It aggravates the lightness in her head, clouds it even further. When she reaches the end of the alley, she steps out quickly. The avenue comes out wide and spacious, bright and quiet compared to the mess of the bar she’d come out of.

Rey sighs. She shoves her hands into her jacket pockets and looks around. Cars speed by the avenue, their headlights a neon blur into the darkness of the night. Shops are lit up all around her, but very few of them are full. Rey rubs her eyes.

It’s cold.

She pats down her pockets and is glad to find that her wallet and phone are still inside. She fishes out her phone and unlocks it, considers asking Finn to come pick her up. She definitely sends Poe a text to inform him that she’s going home.

That’s all she needs to do. She should lock her phone now and get walking, but instead she opens her inbox and scrolls down, scrolls past the last message she sent to look at a familiar conversation.

_Me: Kylo, are you all right?_

Of course he still hasn’t replied. Rey grits her teeth and shoves her phone back into her pocket.

The cool wind on her face wakes her up a little. She stands up, more alert, and then decides that a walk would do her good.

Besides, she’s hungry.

Rey looks around. She realizes that the noodle shop is around here. She’s not in the mood to enter a crowded fast food chain or some fancy restaurant. All she wants is a fill of lo mien and a warm chair to sit on.

She crosses the street and keeps walking. Just one foot in front of the other. Rey is hyperaware of her every step, of how much effort she puts into just walking. Her legs bring her there out of muscle memory, and she’s glad, because she doesn’t want to think of anything at all.

She passes strangers and students alike. A couple of boys come out from another bar, their voices loud and boisterous in this tiny side-street. Rey avoids them and keeps looking forward. A woman smokes on the street corner, her phone held to her ear. Rey ignores her.

After a few more minutes of steady walking, the familiar noodle shop comes into view. Rey lets out a sigh of relief as she approaches. She cranes her neck to look up at the sign above: that neon lettering that beckons her, bright as day. She swallows.

Her stomach grumbles.

Rey brings out her wallet. She zips it open and peers inside, wondering if she brought enough money. She didn’t expect to spend that much today. Or rather, she _can’t_ , but surely she has enough for an extra serving of lo mien. But the street is dark and her vision blurs. She can’t count up the sums in her head, even when she paws through her coins and bills over and over again.

Somehow, that frazzles her even more. She sniffs, realizing that her throat is wet. Rey zips up her wallet and then shoves it back into her pocket. Something _painful_ wrecks through her chest, and she steps backwards, rubbing her eye. She feels sick and lonely and exhausted, and she still has to get up early to go to class tomorrow…

_Why am I crying over some dumb noodles?_

The door opens. Rey’s standing too close so she’s almost hit by the door. The stranger drops it immediately, but Rey had stepped aside so violently that she feels woozy. Suddenly she grows imbalanced, and her knees crumple underneath her.

She falls. She’s going to fall. She knows it. But before she reaches the ground, two large hands catch her by her upper arms, and she reaches up to grab at the other man’s jacket collar. It’s stiff and woollen in her fingers. He tugs her up unsteadily, her soles skidding against the concrete sidewalk.

Rey sniffs. This is so _embarrassing_ , she thinks, which makes her feel even worse. The man’s grip grows loose, but he keeps his hands on her arms. Rey looks up.

And instantly pulls away from him as if she’d been burned.

It’s Kylo. He’s staring at her, wide-eyed and concerned, those eyes burning up behind his glasses. He looks better than before, but there are still dark circles underneath his eyes. His face is sharp and angled underneath the neon lighting, and it intensifies his scowl even more. Makes it more prominent against his lips.

Rey grimaces.

“Rey?” he asks, his voice rising in a question.

“Go away,” she replies. “I’m going to have dinner.”

He scrutinizes her face more intently. “Are you drunk?”

Rey matches his frown. “I didn’t drink that much.”

“Maybe you just can’t take it.”

“ _Of course_ I can take it,” she snaps. “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you. I always have. Now move aside. I’m hungry.”

Kylo doesn’t move. His mouth is set in a firm line.

“Rey.”

“What?!”

“Did you go out alone? That’s dangerous. At least call your friends. Please.”

“Why is it dangerous?” she asks sharply. “Is it because I’m a girl? Is it because I’m only twenty?”

Kylo doesn’t speak but she can tell what he thinks of it. She rolls her eyes.

“I’ve been fine all my life, you know. I don’t need other people to take care of me. Now move aside, _Professor_.”

Kylo flinches as the spits out his title. A wave of smugness curls in her belly, but it doesn’t last as long as she expects. It’s slowly replaced by a wave of dread and nausea, and even the barest hint of guilt. She doesn’t know why. Rey retreats into herself, and her voice comes out soft.

“Move.”

Kylo bristles.

“Move, _please_ ,” she insists. “I feel sick.”

And then she promptly vomits into the gutter, her body crumpling in half as she expels everything she’s drank or eaten in the past eight hours. Her throat burns, and Rey’s eyes tear up. She sobs once, her stomach heaving.

She stands there, hands clutching her stomach. She’s still bent over, her eyes shut tight. She feels miles better now, but the taste is disgusting, and she wants nothing more than to get home, brush her teeth, and get into bed. It’s only now after the wave of sickness has passed that she realizes Kylo’s held her hair back. His other hand rubs soothing circles against her back.

The sensation makes her sob even more. She hiccups once and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. When she stands up, Kylo offers her a dark blue handkerchief. She grimaces, but he seems like he’s about to forcefully wipe her mouth himself, so she grabs it from him and cleans her face and her hands on her own.

“I’ll wash this,” she tells him. “Thanks.”

He hums. “You can keep it.”

Rey looks up at him. He’s staring at her with a softer expression now. She realizes that his hand is still on her shoulder, perhaps to steady her. It doesn’t burn as badly as she remembers.

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears back inside the shop. Rey considers bolting, but he’s surprisingly quick, and by the time she’s taken a single step towards the avenue he’s back outside. He holds a glass of water out for her to sip.

“Take this,” he commands, his voice firm.

She does take it. Her hands shake, but she grips the glass tightly so it won’t fall and shatter to the ground. Rey takes slow and careful sips, and her stomach stops somersaulting inside of her.

“I’m taking you home,” Kylo says. It isn’t a question. Rey doesn’t even resist.

When she’s drank half of the water, she carefully sets the glass down on a pillar outside of the store window. Kylo watches her carefully, eyes sharp as a hawk. She can’t look at him in the eyes. She feels pathetic.

“Come on,” he says, softer this time. His hand is large against the small of her back. He guides her across the street to his car—that familiar black BMW. Rey allows herself to be led by him even when she doesn’t feel dizzy anymore. She can walk by herself, but Kylo’s presence is comforting. Warm. He makes sure she’s comfortable and buckled up in the passenger seat before he goes around to sit in front of the wheel.

The car roars to life underneath her.

He slowly backs out of the parking space. The car is silent between them, with barely a melody peeping from his radio. Rey fidgets in her seat, tugging at her sleeves. The silence between them usually doesn’t bother her, but right now it’s louder than the wailing in her ears, even louder than the noise from the bar.

It deafens her, this silence.

“Kylo,” she calls out softly. “Thank you. For taking me home.”

She wants to apologize, but when she tries to speak, the words get stuck in her throat.

Kylo nods once.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she says. She tries to say more, but her throat clams up. She chokes on the words. Her eyes begin to water once more, so she rubs them, sniffing as she does. Kylo’s shoulders grow stiff.

“I just wanted to celebrate your birthday with you,” she continues wetly. Her voice cracks, but she’s too far gone to even be embarrassed about it.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday,” Kylo replies.

“Why not?”

He shrugs silently.

Rey wipes away some moisture from her eyes. It takes a few moments more before the air is broken by Kylo’s voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving,” he says.

Rey doesn’t reply. They’re both silent again.

Kylo turns on the radio right before they exit the street. A soft drumbeat rolls out through the speakers. It’s accompanied by a soaring melody, a man’s voice crooning out vowels and song. But the volume is low, subdued, and it lulls Rey into a peaceful cocoon as she looks aside.

The night remains long, with bright shop fronts dotting the darkened landscape. The lyrics to the song are murmured and poetic, and as Rey sinks into her chair, she feels her eyelids grow heavy. The world disappears between each slow blink.

She feels the air from the heater grow slightly warmer. The air blasts in her direction, keeping her snug.

Rey falls asleep, the radio and the car engine humming into her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think that I was strong enough to keep them away from each other for long? ;) Nope. An extended (lovers') quarrel due to miscommunication is my least favorite trope.
> 
> Also, Chapter Thirteen might be late. I decided to re-write it but haven't finished yet because I'm super busy. It's giving me a really hard time so... I'm a bit nervous on how it will be received *sweats*


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reconciliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell you guys. A reader, Deliriumdoll, wrote fanfic of this fanfic! I can't believe it! Thank you so much <3
> 
> It features Rey dancing to Beyonce and Kylo being completely mesmerized ;) [Check it out here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978861)

Rey yawns.

Her headache has disappeared, and there’s no longer any hint of pounding in her skull. Still, she’s exhausted, and this morning she’d overslept so much that she was forced to run to class without any breakfast.

Right now the coffee shop is at a sleepy lull, and if she weren’t standing up then she’d probably slump against the pastry box for a snooze. Paige is busy cleaning cups beside her. She’s humming a little tune, and Rey zeroes in on it, focuses intently on figuring out what the song is. It’s familiar, and the title is right on the tip of her tongue.

She drums her fingers on the register. The bell on the front door rings, barely audible over the girl’s humming. Paige doesn’t slow down as she wipes away mugs, but she does turn to Rey and catch her eye.

Rey blinks, confused. And then she turns her head and realizes that Paige had just been warning her of their latest customer. The door swings close as Kylo approaches the counter, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s frowning a little, working his lips and jaw in a way that makes him look shy. Unsure. His head is also bowed down, and he ambles onwards rather than strides purposefully.

When he stands in front of her, he swallows. Rey stands up straight, making eye contact.

_He’s just another customer._

_Just another customer._

“One black coffee,” he murmurs. “A bagel and…”

He scans the rest of the pastry box with his eyes. So he’s finally willing to move onto other foods. Rey’s lips quirk up into a smile before she can stop herself.

“May I interest you in a Danish?” she asks, her voice smooth and clear. The perfect cashier voice. Rey beams. “Our baker just finished a fresh batch. It’s a new product too.”

Kylo hums, still staring at the pastry box.

“There are two kinds,” she continues, unaffected. “Blueberry and cherry filling.”

His eyes glance up to meet hers. Rey freezes. Her lips part silently, and she clenches her hands into fists at her sides, hoping to calm down her suddenly frantic heartbeat. Kylo’s gaze is intense as usual; calm and collected but zeroed in on her. She feels breathless.

“What would you recommend?” he asks coolly.

“I prefer the blueberry,” she admits.

He nods.

“A bagel and a blueberry Danish then.”

Rey bites her lip. Kylo glances away and the spell is broken. She looks down at the register, hoping to get this order done and over with. If he can be professional about this then so can she.

“For take-out?” she asks, already inputting his order into the register. Kylo brings out his wallet with a shake of his head.

“For here.”

He slides a bill onto the counter. Rey makes sure to take it carefully, slowly, so that her fingers won’t brush his. His hand twitches when she takes it from him, and she instantly looks up. He meets her gaze.

Not for long. She looks away again.

She fishes out the pastries from the box and puts them into the oven to reheat them. Paige begins to brew his coffee, still humming out the tune. There are no other customers waiting in line, so Kylo stands next to the counter, his hip against the edge of the tabletop. He crosses his arms over his chest, gaze lost to the distance in idle thought.

Rey taps her fingers to the tune of Paige’s song.

When the oven chimes, she serves the pastries onto a plate with mechanic movements. Paige pushes the mug of coffee towards him. Even Rey feels that the older girl is being cautious; she feels like Paige is watching her more than paying attention to their customer.

It’s not a problem though. Kylo only glances at her when he collects his order.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, turning away.

Rey swallows and watches him go.

He settles into his usual table near the window. Once he’s seated, he opens his satchel and brings out his laptop. In a few minutes, he’s back to working and typing, his attention focused entirely on his screen.

“Must have been busy,” Paige muses, skirting away. “I haven’t seen him here in weeks. But then again, he’s only a new regular.”

Rey looks down at the register to avoid the older girl’s gaze. She can feel Paige’s stare burning a hole into the side of her head. She offers a single shrug.

“Doesn’t matter. At least he’s back now,” she replies, and then instantly clamps her mouth shut. “It’s good for business.”

Paige smirks beside her, and then continues humming her song.

 

 

There’s an angry part of her that itches to yell: _you think that you can just waltz back into my life like that?_ It’s the same part of her that regrets not snubbing him, that regrets giving him a gentle smile, that sometimes holds the urge to delete all their conversations out of spite.

But she can’t bring herself to do it. The book and the text messages, these are the only physical, concrete evidences she has that prove how she’d meant _something_ to him once.

(That he’d meant something to her)

So instead she pointedly avoids scrolling down long enough to catch his name printed on her screen.

Besides, this time spent away from him is productive. Rey sits on the floor of her room, tinkering with Finn’s old radio. It lies open in front of her, with its dials and faceplate scattered all over the ground. Rose hands her a pair of pliers.

The two girls sit together in relative silence. They don’t speak, but the noise of Rey’s clanking and the sound of magazine pages flipping in Rose’s lap fill the room. Rey swears when she inspects the radio, brings it up closer to eye-level to figure out what it is that she did wrong.

“Can you hand me the flathead?” Rey asks. She holds her hand palm up in Rose’s direction, her gaze still fixed on the radio’s circuit. She hears the clinking of metal against plastic.

“It’s not in the box,” Rose replies. She pauses. “Wait, I think it might have rolled under your table.”

Rey turns her head and watches her friend reach underneath the bedside drawers. The space underneath it is dark and cramped, and Rose winces as she tries to fit her hand underneath. Her eyes widen for a moment as she blindly reaches around.

“I think I found it!” she exclaims, grinning. She surges forward and then accidentally bumps her wrist against the table.

“Ow. Shit.”

The entire thing shakes when she pulls her hand from underneath. The dusty screwdriver is in her hand, but the haphazardly balanced items on top of the table’s surface slip to the side with a crash. Rose winces as two heavy objects fall to the ground with dull thuds.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, offering Rey the screwdriver. Rey snorts.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’ll pick that up.”

Rose scoots forward to pick up the fallen objects. There’s a binder full of papers and a heavily-bound book. Some of the papers have slipped out, so Rey takes the binder from her and begins shoving them back inside. By the time she’s finished, she looks up, confused at Rose’s sudden silence.

What Rey doesn’t expect to see is Rose staring at the book with wide eyes. She’d opened it to a certain page, and perhaps because she felt Rey staring at her, she looks up to meet her friend’s eyes.

Rey’s fingers shake. She wants to reach out and get the book but she finds that she can’t move—she finds that she doesn’t want to take it. Rose misunderstands her reaction and carefully drops the book in Rey’s lap instead.

Rey stares down at it, refusing to touch it with her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmurs. “I thought it was a normal book. I didn’t know…”

“It _is_ a normal book,” Rey insists. _If it’s such a normal book, then why can’t you touch it? Why did you bury it under all your useless papers?_ “Sorry, did you want to read it? That’s fine.”

“Rey,” Rose says softly. “Did Professor Ren give this to you?”

“He lent it to me.”

Rose nods. She scoots closer.

“You want to tell me what happened?” the shorter girl asks. Rey glances towards her and meets determined, all-seeing eyes.

“How do you know something happened?”

“Oh, please.”

Rey groans and leans back against the bed. Her head hits the edge of the mattress.

“We had a dumb fight,” she begins. Rey carefully sets the book on the floor and then sits up, hugging her knees to her chest. She doesn’t want to tell Rose everything—okay, she _wants_ to, but she knows she can’t. “Do you remember when he was suddenly gone for a week? I was angry at him for not telling me.”

Rose nods.

“I thought we were friends,” Rey continues. “You don’t just disappear on your friends without notice like that. I was worried _sick._ ”

Rose pats her on the shoulder.

“We said horrible things to each other. It’s… It doesn’t matter now. I regret some of them but it’s not as if I can take them back.”

Rey frowns. She rolls the grooves of the screwdriver between her fingers, mesmerized by its texture. She doesn’t want to look at Rose. She doesn’t want to look at the stupid book.

“You haven’t talked to him since then?” Rose prods.

“He visited the café yesterday. We didn’t really _talk_ , but everything was normal.”

They’re both silent for a while. Rey continues to hold the screwdriver in her hands, inspecting its metallic point. She hears Rose shift beside her—there’s a small sigh and the shuffle of her clothes.

“Do you remember when Finn and Poe had that big dramatic fight about Poe’s track racing?” Rose muses. Rey snorts.

“I remember. Poe was being an idiot.”

“He was.” Rose nods sagely.

“I physically slammed the door in his face a couple of times.”

“I would hang up if he said something dumb within the first five seconds.”

Both girls burst into laughter. Rose’s head flops backwards against the mattress as well.

“But in the end, Poe apologized, Finn started talking to him again, and they’re as sickly sweet as usual,” Rose says. She’s grinning. “They couldn’t ever stay away from each other for long. They couldn’t stay _angry_ at each other for long.”

Rey frowns at her.

“Rose, that’s not…”

“ _Rey_.” Rose raises a pointed brow. “I know he’s important to you. Are you really going to stop being friends because of one fight? Even if he is being dumb.”

Rey snorts. “You out of all people are calling Professor Ren dumb?”

“Men are always dumb about these things. I bet he’s too scared to even talk to you, just in case you never want to see his face ever again.”

Rey groans.

“Do you never want to see his face ever again?” Rose asks. “Because it’s a really handsome face—“

Rey smacks her blindly on the shoulder. Rose yelps in pain and then laughs.

“Please don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!”

Rose’s laughter is loud in the room. Rey throws a complaint into the air, a plea for her to _stop please we aren’t like that_ , and Rose just ignores her.

Still, a certain heaviness on her chest has lifted.

Rey Kenobi is a stubborn girl.

If she puts her mind to it, then she’ll do it.

 

 

Rey’s curled up on an old armchair in the library, her notebook open in her lap. She taps her pen against her knee, listening to the _clack clack_ as she thinks. She writes down a sentence and then pauses, frowns, and strikes it out with black ink.

_No, that sounds dumb._

She sinks further into the armchair with a sigh. Her neck aches a little from how much time she’s spent looking down, so she stretches it out, leans her head against the backrest to stare up at the ceiling. It’s dusty and cobwebbed, just as abandoned as the rest of this section.

She huffs.

Going all the way here might have been dumb. An impulse decision. She doesn’t know if he’ll even come back here since he seems to frequent the café nowadays. But the poetry section _is_ in perfect view, and this armchair is comfortable enough even when she’s been sitting here for two hours. At least she got some work done too.

And writing. She’s been writing.

It isn’t poetry. And she’s taken a break from her memoirs, from her recollections of her past. But just as she was recounting her own story, another idea had come to her, and she figured that it would be easier to fictionalize it than be fully frank and honest.

Prose, she thinks, is much more comfortable to work with. But it’s also a real pain.

Just as she pulls her legs up onto the chair, she hears footsteps in the distance. Rey looks up and then turns her head, looking for the source. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees Kylo across the room, near the doorway. He’s talking to a familiar woman. She’s tall and blonde, with icy blue eyes. Their conversation is hushed, but the woman’s face is serious. Her heels are sharp enough to kill, and since she’s wearing them, she towers over Kylo.

But he’s scowling at her, his expression also quite familiar. He shakes his head violently, insisting on something or the other. The woman sighs and puts a hand on her hip. They stop walking. Kylo mumbles something else before turning away. It must be _I’ve got work to do_ , or something similar.

Kylo stalks off towards the desks located next to the wall on the right side of the room. The woman huffs as she watches him, her hand still on her hip. But then her eyes scan the room and she catches Rey’s gaze.

Rey lowers her notebook as she makes eye contact. She’d been holding it up to cover the bottom half of her face, as if to pretend that she’d been engrossed in reading rather than watching the two of them. Rey offers a sheepish smile, and surprisingly, the woman smiles back.

She turns away and leaves.

Rey watches the door close behind the blonde before leaning out of the armrests to scan the room. Kylo hasn’t put down his things yet; he’s still walking around, scanning for the nearest table with a socket, probably.

In a burst of courage, Rey leaps out of her armchair and runs up to him.

It’s fine, she thinks. There’s no one else here.

She swallows.

It’s too late to back out now, because even before she can get seven paces in, he’s seen her. Rey isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he freezes—all hulking largeness of him—as he clutches the strap of his satchel even tighter.

He only watches her wordlessly as she approaches. Their eyes meet, and Kylo parts his lips. She shakes her head and speaks up before he can begin.

“About Wednesday evening,” she starts. She’s referring to that night outside of the noodle shop when she’d vomited in front of him. It takes all her self-control not to grimace in disgust. “I’m really sorry.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replies. “I’m just glad that you’re safe.”

Rey purses her lips.

“If you aren’t… if you aren’t angry with me,” she starts, her voice trembling slightly. “Then can we be friends again?”

She raises a hand in his direction, palm up. Her fingers shake. She doesn’t expect him to take it, and he doesn’t. But he stares at her, awestruck, as if he’s been stunned. He licks his lips—in nervousness, perhaps. His voice is gentle and low when he speaks.

“Friends?” he asks.

Rey nods. “Just friends. You know, like before.”

“Just friends,” he murmurs, as if he’s weighing the words in his mouth. Rey can practically see the gears turning in his head. His lips twitch as he frowns, eyes glossing over infinitesimally.  “Of course. But I never expected you to—“

“You don’t want to?” her voice falls as her heart sinks into her stomach. Kylo’s eyes widen and he takes a step forward, panicked.

“I want to be friends. I really do. But I know you’re angry about…”

“That’s all in the past now,” Rey interrupts. Her voice is firm. She offers him a small smile when he finally meets her eyes again. Her hand drops to her side. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m sorry if I ever overstepped any bounds.”

Kylo nods once.

“And if _I_ overstep,” he counters. “Then you should tell me too.”

Rey’s lips curl up into a wide smile.

“I will.”

All they need is to remain friends, Rey thinks. If they remain friends then everything will be all right.

Maybe her chest will finally stop hurting.

 

 

They weave together a tentative peace, retracing their steps until things are back to normal.

That’s right. Because their togetherness _is_ normal now, isn’t it?

Rey tries not to think too hard about it. She meets Kylo over dinner at the noodle shop, both of them meeting at unspoken times. At eight on the dot, she knows that he’ll be there sitting hunched over the too-tiny stools. Conversation between them flows freely, their voices melodious over the clink of cups and utensils. She tells him about her day, complains about dumb customers, and he listens, quiet and stewing. He tells her about books he’s reading, or the horrible essays he’s graded, and Rey laughs out loud when he mimics students’ pleas.

It’s quiet. It’s cozy.

She returns to his office, books under her arm. He’s always typing, always writing, always reading, and so she follows. They don’t speak, but they are hyperaware of each other’s presence, and deep down inside Rey knows that someone like Rose would call this a _study date._

But it isn’t.

Is it odd, she thinks, to befriend your professor? Of course not. It’s perfectly normal, especially when he’s young and similar. Especially when she realizes that they get along quite well, that they share some interests, and that it’s fun to argue over the things that they _do_ differ in.

What _is_ odd, she supposes, is befriending Kylo Ren…

But she’s starting to think that it’s only because no one ever tried.

 

 

His voice is tight and hushed over the phone. Rey almost drops the receiver when she hears him.

Talking to him like this isn’t unusual anymore, but his tone definitely is. He’d texted her a mere few minutes before to ask if he could call her, and of course she’d accepted. Rey didn’t understand why he had to _ask_ her to do that, but she figures that it’s just one of his strange quirks—one of things that makes Kylo who he is.

The hour is late, and Rey is curled up in bed with her phone trapped between her shoulder and her ear. She’s facing her laptop screen, scrolling listlessly as she waits for Kylo to speak, the open word processor in front of her already forgotten. There are no other lights on in her room besides her bedside lamp, and it casts a faint orange glow on her mattress. Perhaps that—coupled with Kylo’s low voice—is why it feels oddly more intimate, and it’s why she hears him all the more clearly.

“I need to tell you something,” Kylo says. “But not over the phone. It has to be in person. And in private.”

_What could he possibly need to say?_

A dozen ideas rush through Rey’s mind. She considers each one carefully for a split-second, unable to swallow down the sudden curiosity. His voice is grave, and each word is carefully considered; they flow smoothly from his mouth.

“I can go to your office tomorrow,” she replies, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

“Not in my office,” he replies vehemently. “It has to be someplace where no one else can hear.”

Her traitorous heart does a tiny flip inside of her chest. Rey blinks, caught off-guard, and she’s lucky that she’s on the phone with him and not speaking face-to-face, because she’s sure that she’s making a dumbfounded expression. Surely, he couldn’t have implied…

He exhales a shaky breath on the other end of the line. Rey’s brows furrow together and she holds her phone properly against her ear.

“Kylo? What’s wrong?” she asks.

“It’s about my father.”

He drops the words right in her lap, his tone falling sharply at the end of his sentence. His statement hangs in the air between them—through the line connecting them—and Kylo speaks again, cutting off Rey’s chance to reply.

“I need to tell you everything,” he continues. “If anyone should know, it’s you.”

Rey gnaws on her lower lip. She understands what he’s offering—it’s something heavy and precious, something dark and secret. She wishes that she could express how grateful she is, but instead, she can only grip her phone even tighter in her hand. Kylo is completely silent on the other end, as if he’s holding his breath.

She imagines that he is.

“Where can I meet you?” she asks simply.

 

 

Rey jogs up to Kylo’s figure as he paces around a park bench.

His coat is buttoned up tightly against his throat. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he glares at the grass, his footsteps silent as he walks in frantic circles. Rey catches her breath as she approaches him, and when he looks up to meet her eyes she notices the way he frantically bites at his lip.

All of the previous places they usually met up at were unsuitable. Kylo refused to discuss this anywhere near campus. Restaurants and cafés offer no privacy. The woods near Maz’s would be too far away, and perhaps too cold, for a simple conversation.

Rey wishes she could offer her apartment, but Finn could come home any time. Kylo hasn’t once offered his.

So now they stand still, staring at each other as a cool breeze blows through their hair. They’re at the very back of the local park, far from the busy entrance that leads to the rest of the city. The landscape stretches onwards behind them, punctuated only by dark clouds and a stray bird. The footpath is several meters away, which means that they’ll hopefully be shielded from any stray joggers.

Besides, nobody would even want to be out here in the cold of the early morning.

Rey’s lucky to be an early riser.

“Good morning,” she greets him. She rocks back and forth on her heels, unsure of what to do next. Kylo freezes, staring back at her, as if he’s also unsure of how to continue.

“Good morning,” he replies, voice hoarse. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“No problem. I’m an early riser,” she says with a smile.

“I figured.”

They’re both silent. Rey only waits patiently until he can speak again. His face grows pinched, and she can tell that he’s preparing himself for whatever he’s about to say next.

“I wish I could have told you this earlier,” he says. “But I wasn’t… ready.”

“That’s okay,” Rey murmurs.

“But I have to tell you now,” he continues. “Whether I’m ready or not. I’d rather you know everything, and I’d rather you hear it from _me_.”

 _Where else would I hear it from?_ Rey wonders. She’s sure that nobody else knows who Kylo Ren really is. After having a week to cool her head, the pain from his lie has slowly ebbed away. All she cares about now is returning things back to normal, returning to their old companionship. If he’ll tell her, then he’ll tell her. Still, even she knows just how famous the Skywalker family is. The son of Senator Leia Organa-Solo and the deceased Han Solo exists in public memory…

(The realization hits Rey suddenly. It must be painful to have everyone else think that they _know_ you, that they have a _right_ to know every detail of your life, just because you were raised by public figures. Kylo’s shyness, his privacy, his refusal to meet eyes and smiles head on—it makes sense)

But that was years and years ago, even before Rey was born. That was him as a young child, a boy.

Now he’s a grown man, so large and tall, so accomplished. But he curls up into himself like a scared child, and Rey wishes desperately that she could embrace him.

She clenches her hands into fists at her sides.

He takes in a deep breath.

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. I just want you to understand,” he says.

“I’ll listen,” Rey offers.

“My parents were busy people,” he murmurs. Rey approaches silently to hear him better. “They married young because they had me. But after my mother gave birth, she had to return to her job at the Senate. She had too many obligations that had to be juggled at the same time.

“And my father, well. You’ve heard the stories.” He scoffs. “All he wanted was to live fast and furious. That caused a lot of arguments between him and my mother.”

He shakes his head.

“But that’s beside the point. Even from the beginning, I was… a quiet child. I just wanted to be left alone. I had the feeling that other people didn’t like me very much.” He shrugs one shoulder. “And I was right.”

He looks away, his gaze lost to the horizon. Rey stares at him, stares at the sunlight that traces the side profile of his face. That strong jaw, the well-defined nose, the lips that press tightly together.

His eyes are clouded with memories.

“The older I got, the more apparent our differences were. My mother was the Senator, always pulled away from one engagement to the next, always ready to mingle with other people. My father was the race car driver, a rockstar in his own right, who didn’t understand his son who preferred books and isolation to machines and drinking parties. As parents, they were very… hands-off.”

Kylo’s lips curve up into a wistful smile.

“I admit that I didn’t react well to that. I got into a lot of fights very regularly. Perhaps it was… just because I _was looking_ for a fight. I don’t know. That’s why they sent me away to live with my uncle when I was a teenager. It was because I got into a lot of problems at school. I was just always so _angry_.” His jaw clenches. “I was angry at everything: angry at my parents, angry at my teachers and classmates, angry at myself. My uncle was an English professor and a writer, so they figured that I’d be in better hands if I lived with him. At least we’d have more in common.”

He looks at Rey. His expression is so resigned and torn that Rey’s lip quivers.

“But just because we were in the same field didn’t mean that we had much in common. Our tempers clashed, and I just kept disappointing him again and again. I don’t think he really knew how to handle me, so he decided it was best if he didn’t.”

Rey is silent.

“I accidentally burned down his office once.” Kylo kicks a tiny pebble in the grass. He stares at the ground, his nose wrinkled. “I was a dumb teenager playing with fireworks. We had to call the fire department, but by that time it was too late.”

He looks at her. “You can imagine how well everyone reacted to that,” Kylo says wryly.

“God,” he brings up a hand to cover his face. Kylo looks down and scoffs, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. Rey falters, wondering if she should step any closer. “I was such an idiot. I was a _failure_. Nobody liked me. Nobody _cared_ , so I made things even worse by—“

He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “No. Nevermind. That part doesn’t matter. I just called you here to tell you about my crime.”

“It’s okay,” Rey whispers. “You can tell me everything, even all the other details. I want to hear.”

Kylo looks at her from the spaces between his fingers. His glasses are skewed again, and his lip twitches in a painful frown. It tugs at her heartstrings.

“Do you remember how Han Solo was convicted of smuggling in luxury cars? Well, he was jailed while I was living with my uncle. He only got released when I was already in college.

“By then I was glad to be living alone. My uncle had cut off all contact after I burned down his office. We lived together because I was a senior in high school, but he was basically a ghost. He wouldn’t speak to me. Wouldn’t look at me with anything other than fear or disappointment. I… I _hated_ him.”

He takes in a deep breath.

“I had already started writing back then. I had notebooks full of prose and poetry. If I didn’t write the words down, then I’d try to let it all out with my fists.” He grips the front of his jacket tightly. “So you can just imagine the things I wrote about… It was all stress relief. A way to let out my feelings and the dark impulses. There were so many people that I _hated,_ so many people that wanted me dead as badly as I wanted them to be. I was never going to—I would never _act_ on those things I wrote about, you know? Sure, I would fight, but nobody ever suffered more than a broken nose.” He inhales sharply. “And thanks to my luck, my uncle decided to snoop around my stuff. He found all the notebooks, the poetry, the _troubling signs of violence_. Those are his words, not mine. And do you know what happened next? Instead of confronting me directly about it like a normal human being, he decided he should send me away to a psych ward. Then my mother, for once in her life, tried to stop him. And for what? I bet it was just so that her public record wouldn’t be blemished even further. With a criminal rascal for a husband and a juvenile psycho for a son—“

His fist at his side is clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn pale.

Rey doesn’t want him to think that way, but she knows that he has to speak.

“I went to college. I wanted to be as far away from everyone as possible. I cut off all contact as soon as I could. I wish I could forget, but my name was _Ben Solo_ , and everyone stared at me like I was diseased. Like I was some criminal like my father was. His arrest was all over the news back then, no matter how hard my mother tried to hide it. I know everyone who didn’t hate my guts at least hated me for being a brat who didn’t even deserve the Skywalker name.”

He sniffs.

“When I was twenty, one of my poems was picked up for publication by the First Order press. They’re a powerful publication, if you aren’t aware. The editor-in-chief back then even contacted me personally because he thought I was a rising young talent.” Kylo smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was happy for once. I thought I was finally getting _somewhere_. At least someone recognized me for my talent. At least I could do _something_ right. And they didn’t care about the fact that I was a Solo or a Skywalker. They only wanted me for me. They wanted me for my writing.”

He sighs.

“And then my father gets released from prison. He forcefully visits me, even when he hasn’t seen or talked to me in _years_. I figured that he’d be somewhat happy, you know? His son was a rising poet, published at the age of twenty. But no. All he cared about was the fact that I cut myself off. The fact that I disappointed my uncle. The fact that the First Order had issues with its journalists in the past, because they were caught fabricating lies and slandering officials in the paper. But that didn’t bother me; I was a poet, not a journalist. And besides, those writers were fired as soon as they were investigated.

“He came to celebrate my birthday with me,” Kylo says. His eyes grow dark and haunted beneath his lenses. “But instead, I was just reminded that I’d never be enough for them. All they ever saw were my disappointments. And then we—“ he breathes in sharply. “I was cooking. We got into an argument. I saw red. I was holding a knife…”

Kylo presses a hand to his forehead. His fingers tremble, and Rey rushes forward, realizing it’s now or never. He sits down on the bench, his eyes wide and unseeing. Rey sits down next to him, her hands outstretched but not touching his. But she wants to. She wants to touch.

“It was an accident,” Kylo whispers. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know that I hit his lungs. I couldn’t… I didn’t want—“

His voice hitches in his throat. Kylo buries his face into his hands and leans down, body bent over his knees. He hides his face from view so that all she sees is his hair and the figure of a broken man sitting next to her. He trembles in his seat, and Rey’s heart explodes inside of her chest. A barrier of emotion wells up inside of her, raging and storming as it breaks through her ribcage.

“I didn’t want to kill him. I never wanted to kill him. It was an accident. It was an accident…”

He mumbles the same sentence over and over. His voice is wet with the threat of tears. Finally, finally, Rey reaches out to touch him. Her hand trembles as she strokes his broad back, her fingers gentle against his spine. Kylo flinches at first, but he doesn’t pull away. Rey hushes him, her voice low and tender.

“It’s all right,” she murmurs. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” he replies. “It hasn’t been all right for _years_.”

Rey leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck. She whispers soft hushes into his hair, into his ear. Kylo trembles in her embrace, and he becomes putty in her hands. She guides his head, lets him bury his face into her shoulder.

His limbs are wracked in silent sobs. He grips the fabric of her jacket in his giant hands. Rey smooths down his hair and holds him, her embrace constant as their figures are bathed in the rays of the steadily rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I happy with the first half of this chapter? A big no. Am I tired enough of it that I just want it published and gone? Yes. Will this mean that things will finally be back to normal? Another yes. I'm as relieved as you guys are :)))
> 
> PS: I might go back and edit this chapter in the future if I have enough time (and willingness lol). There are still scenes that I want to write and rewrite but the main part of it (that ending) is what I meant to convey anyway. I'll notify you guys if I do end up editing this!


	14. Of my days...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An illumination.

They don’t talk about what happened that morning.

It doesn’t matter, though, Rey thinks. They don’t have to. Just as Kylo has spilled everything out into her arms, it’s like another wall between them has shattered. There’s no longer any need to tiptoe around each other, no need to be stiff and formal. Deep down inside, Rey hopes that Kylo thinks of her as a friend more than as his student.

He’s so often didactic, but at least this time, she can tell that they’re speaking to each other more equally.

“And what’s so wrong with arranging it achronologically? A lot of good works have done _that_ ,” she insists, throwing her hands into the air. She leans her elbows on top of the table, and leans forward to make her point. Kylo only huffs.

They’re seated at one of the back booths in Maz’s. When Kylo grimaces, it darkens his expression even more. His dark hair and black turtleneck contrast sharply against the red vinyl of the couch’s backrest.

“It’s overdone,” he says simply. “It’s dumb.”

“It’s only dumb if that’s all you’re relying on,” Rey replies. “But if you add a good plot and interesting characters, then the achronological order makes it even more exciting! It’s like solving a mystery in reverse!”

“Every action flick’s done that,” he grumbles. “It’s a cheap trick.”

“It’s _cool_.”

“I don’t see why you want to use a jumbled up timeline anyway. Isn’t your story about a scavenger who goes on an adventure?”

“Yeah, but I really wanted to contrast her future self with that of her past self. I figured flashbacks every other chapter would be too boring. Besides, the jumbled up timeline would be like bits and bobs of memory… kind of like how she scavenges random parts. Get it?”

“…It’s your story, Rey.”

“Ugh,” she leans back and rolls her eyes. Kylo smirks in front of her. “You’re a _Romance poet._ Why did I ask you?”

“Because I’m still the best writer you know.”

“Oh, stop flattering yourself. You’re the _only_ writer I know.”

“Which means that you still have lots to learn.”

“And aren’t you supposed to be offering _guidance_ , Professor?” she asks sweetly—sickeningly sweetly. Kylo huffs at her, waving her off.

“I am. You asked for my opinion, didn’t you?”

“I asked you what you thought of the order I arranged my chapters in, not about the _form_ itself.”

“And I did answer what I thought of the order you arranged them in. I think chronological order is best.”

“Oh, ugh, fine. We’re not talking about this part anymore.”

“Your future editors will be a lot tougher, you know.”

“As if you’re a shining beacon of kindness?”

“To you? Yes.”

He takes a sip of water. Rey pauses, her mouth falling open in shock. She never knows how to react when he says things so casually like this. Of course she knows it, and of course she’s always wondered _how_ things had ever come between them like this, but it still stuns her every time.

“But it really depends,” Kylo continues, unaware of her internal shock. “Most publishers only care about whether or not your books will make money. There are those that really care, that really want to nurture your talent. When they correct you, you can tell that it comes from a place of respect and anticipation.”

Rey blinks at him.

“I’m sure you’ve experienced that?” she asks.

“When I was new to the industry, I had an editor named Snoke. He was sharp and cutting, and his words really hurt. He wouldn’t let me rest until I finished all the revisions he asked for, and if I did anything slightly wrong, then he’d throw out the entire manuscript.” Kylo shrugs one shoulder. He offers a half-smile, but it’s quick and short-lived, and his eyes are serious. “So I had to fish it out of the garbage can more often than not.”

“That sounds _horrible_ ,” Rey murmurs.

“It gave me a fantastic work ethic,” he only replies. “And in some ways, he was right. I wouldn’t have received as many awards as I’ve got now if it weren’t for him.”

“Really?”

Kylo meets her eyes when he nods.

“Yes. He recognized that I had… a lot of grief and anger inside of me, and he told me to channel that. It helps, you know. Every time I feel that familiar burst of… distress, I just take it out through my writing.” He slowly clenches and unclenches his hands into fists. Rey watches him tenderly. “I wouldn’t be as good a writer if I didn’t have such a horrible past,” he laughs.

“That’s not true,” Rey insists. “You don’t _need_ your pain to write. I know you could make something beautiful even if it came from a brighter place.”

When he looks at her, his eyes are amused. Glowing. “Who knows? I’ve been doing the same thing for my entire career. It hasn’t failed me before.”

“Is that even healthy?” Rey interjects. She bites her lip, awaiting his reaction. But Kylo doesn’t bristle. He doesn’t even flinch. He only looks at her, those eyes dark and beseeching. His lips curve up into a sad smile.

He shrugs.

“Does it matter?”

Rey wants to say _yes, yes it does matter_. She reaches out to touch his hand, to place her palm over his. But Kylo frowns and looks down, his hand disappearing out of reach and into his trouser pocket. He fishes out his phone. It vibrates in his hand.

Rey leans against her backrest with a sigh.

He spends an oddly long time just scowling at his screen. It continues to vibrate silently. Rey gestures towards it.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” she asks.

“I should, but I don’t want to.” Kylo grimaces, and then he looks away. “I’ll take it outside. Excuse me. I’ll be back.”

He scoots out of his seat. There’s not enough space between the table and the couch, so he gets out with difficulty. As soon as he’s freed and steps out into the aisle, his satchel twirls in place on top of the couch seat, caught by his movements. Rey reaches out to steady it, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Kylo walks outside, pressing the phone to his ear. His figure disappears through the swinging glass doors.

When Rey removes her hand, the satchel comes sliding down. She presses it against the couch again on reflex, swearing as it opens and spills out a black leather notebook. Thankfully, nothing else comes tumbling out, and Rey sighs as she picks it up.

She shoves the notebook back inside and then closes its flap, sealing the satchel shut with a metallic click. When she leans it against the backrest, hoping that it won’t slide again this time, she realizes that there’s a folded piece of paper on the floor near her shoe.

It must have fallen out with the notebook. Rey blinks and picks it up. It’s been folded many times, and she frowns as she unfolds it, realizing that the paper is much bigger than she’d expected.

It’s filled top to bottom with Kylo’s familiar handwriting.

_Glowing hazel beneath sun-speckled leaves_  
_Or sheltered from rain underneath the eaves_  
_Her eyes burn loud like a hearth fire,_  
_Offer a warmth I could only desire_

_Anything more, I do not deserve_  
_So trembling, I can only observe_  
_The shape of her smile as she calls my name,_  
_The quiver in her voice as I take the blame_

_For in my hands, these sins are pressed_  
_But in her hands, they are undressed_  
_And in her arms, the world roars still_  
_Her warmth chasing out winter chill_

_To this Ray of light, brighter than dawn_  
_Body and soul, I am wholly drawn_  
_Enchanted by magnetic power_  
_Of my days, you are the brightest hour_  
_  
_ Her breath hitches in her throat.

He had written this. It’s clear in his handwriting:  the familiar loops, the loving curves. The paper shakes in her trembling hands, and she realizes that she’s gripping it too tightly. She loosens her hold, hoping that it won’t crease the paper.

Rey dares to trace the words on the first two lines.

_Glowing hazel beneath sun-speckled leaves_  
_Or sheltered from rain underneath the eaves…_

The ink is dry, but the words are imprinted roughly against the paper. The texture is subtle underneath her fingertips, and she wonders when Kylo had written this. Does this mean that he’d been thinking about her too? He can’t get that memory of her underneath the rain out of his mind either?

The poem doesn’t have a name, but somehow she knows it calls to her. She knows it’s about her, because who else could it have been? Would he have called anyone else _his ray of light?_

She hopes that he wouldn’t. Something sparks inside of her chest, bright and blooming like the rays of a first dawn. Her fondness for Kylo is exaggerated in that moment, and it takes her a while to realize that she’s smiling wide like an idiot.

Rey sneakily looks over her shoulder. She catches the faint edge of Kylo’s shoulder standing outside the shop; she can see him through the window but his back is to her. He’s still on the phone, gesturing wildly with his other hand. Rey swallows and looks back down at the poem, giving it one final, tender glance.

She folds it carefully, makes sure that she follows each crease. It only takes a few seconds to do so, but her hands are still trembling, and her heart is pounding, so it feels like an eternity. She slowly slips it back into his satchel, making sure that it’s beside his notebook. Rey fixes his bag again, tries to press it as far away from her as possible.

At that moment, she hears the door swing open. Rey drops her hands and whips her head backwards. Kylo stalks forward, his lip twisted into a downward scowl. His hand is in his pocket, but he’s lost in thought. When he finally slips back into his seat, Rey offers him a nervous grin.

“Sorry that took so long,” he says.

“It’s fine!” Rey chirps, voice louder than intended. She cringes. “It’s okay. It sounded important.”

Kylo raises a single brow. “Are you all right? Your face is red.”

_Oh, Kriff._

Rey nods enthusiastically. “Yes, of course I’m all right! I’m just… it got a bit warm suddenly, didn’t it?”

“The heater is turned up high…” Kylo wonders, softly agreeing. “You want to leave? I’ve taken up lots of your time already.”

“Oh, please, I was the one who called _you_ ,” Rey replies. “But you’re right. I need to go home and… buy groceries. I completely forgot it was my turn this week.”

Kylo stands up, slinging his satchel over his shoulder while looking at her.

“The supermarket’s on the way. You want me to drop you off?”

“No, no thank you.” Rey graciously follows. She dusts off her jeans and gathers her jacket in her arms. “I have to drop by some other places too.”

“All right.”

They make their way outside, side by side. Kylo pushes the door open and lets her go out first. Rey fidgets, tugging at her jacket sleeves. He glances at her once before turning away to the parking lot.

“Rey?”

“Yes?” she asks, turning towards him.

“Next time you should dress more warmly,” he says sternly. Rey doesn’t know how to reply, so she just gives a half-hearted nod. They wave goodbye at each other, and Rey turns away before she can watch him leave.

She presses her fingers against her warm cheeks.

_Stupid. It’s not the cold._

Rey quietly keys in her door before swinging it open. As soon as she steps inside the apartment, she finds Finn and Rose looking up at her from their places on the couch.

The television is on, the volume put up high. An explosion rings out from the speakers, but besides that, it’s deathly quiet for a single moment. Both of them look at her, but neither one offers a greeting. Rey closes the door behind her.

“Hi,” she says. “I didn’t know Rose was coming over. You guys should’ve texted me.”

She drops her bag on the ground before flopping onto an arm chair. Rose bounces up and slides a bowl of popcorn in her direction. Rey grabs a handful before shoving it into her mouth.

“Where did you go?” Finn asks casually, not making eye contact.

“I met up with a friend,” Rey replies while chewing. She swallows. “Ooh, caramel flavor. Did you make this?”

“Store-bought, actually,” Rose says.

“Was this friend Professor Ren?” Finn asks, finally turning his head to look at her. Rey’s hand stops moving inside the bowl, and she glances up at him with a carefully guarded expression. Finn’s brows are furrowed in concern, and Rey isn’t sure how to reply.

“So what if he was?” she asks instead. She sits back and dusts off her hands. Finn hasn’t touched the popcorn once, and his lips are turned down into a frown.

“You know Echo got a part-time job at Maz’s, right? He said you two were on a date.”

“What?!” Rey splutters. “It wasn’t a _date-date_. We were just hanging out. You and I go out for lunch all the time, and it’s never a date.”

“It looked like a date to him.”

“Well, it _wasn’t_ ,” Rey retorts, folding her arms over her chest. “What’s the problem, anyway? Is it so weird that I’ve befriended him?”

“What’s weird that you chose _Kylo Ren_ out of all people.”

“What does that mean?!”

Rey stands up from her seat. Finn gets up as well to meet her stare head-on.

“Rey, you can’t be serious. I warned you about him at the start of the semester, remember?”

“Well, you were wrong.” Rey huffs. “Everyone’s wrong. He’s much kinder than what people _think_.”

“There’s a reason why people think that,” Finn counters, refusing to meet Rey’s shrill tone. “It’s because they have _experience_ with it.”

“Well, I don’t,” Rey snaps. “I already told you we were friends, didn’t I? He’s good to me.”

“I’m starting to wonder if he’s only expecting your _friendship_.”

Rey’s mouth drops open, and no words come out. She shakes her head, growing confused as Finn places a careful hand on her shoulder. His face is _incredibly_ serious. Rose pops up behind him. She watches the two of them silently, clearly too nervous to speak. She nibbles on her bottom lip in worry. Rey looks back to Finn when he begins talking in a calm, low voice.

“Is he forcing you to do this? Has he ever said or done anything inappropriate? Is he… is he withholding your grades? Rey—“

Rey grabs his hand and roughly drops it from her shoulder. She clenches her jaw as she stares him down, her eyes narrowing.

“Finn!” she exclaims. She can’t believe that _Finn_ out of all people can’t trust her on this. “He would _never_ do that! He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me. Besides, do you really think that I’d get caught up in something like that? That I wouldn’t fight back if someone tried to take advantage of me—“

“No,” Finn replies, visibly backtracking. “But if you have a crush on him, then you’re more susceptible to whatever he wants you to do—“

“A _crush_?” Rey screeches, her voice high pitched. Rose visibly cringes in the background. Even Finn snaps his mouth shut. “You think I’m a dumb schoolgirl with a crush?”

“I never said you were dumb,” Finn replies. “I’m just worried that he’s abusing his authority to get closer to you.”

“He’s doing no such thing,” Rey insists. “The two of us are good friends, that’s all. If you gave him a chance then you’d realize that he’s actually a good man deep down inside.”

Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides. Finn’s accusations her hurt like barbed wires through her chest. The worst part, she thinks, isn’t that Finn is insulting her. It’s that he’s insulting _Kylo._

“I know you really care for him,” Rose says softly. Both of them spin around to look at her. Rose stands up and places a soothing hand on Finn’s shoulder, and then another on Rey’s. She smiles up at her. “But Finn here is just worried that he’s got ulterior motives. We’re your friends. Can you blame us?”

Rey’s lips quiver.

“He really respects me,” she whispers back. “He would never do anything to hurt me like that.”

Finn starts on something, but Rose shushes him.

“Okay, if you’re sure. That’s good to hear.” She steps in front of him, ignoring Finn’s protests. “But if he ever does something that makes you uncomfortable, then you’ll tell us, right? We’ve got your back. We just want you to be safe and happy.”

She nudges Finn. Her eyes grow hard for a split-second. “ _Right_ , Finn?”

“We won’t get him fired unless he really deserves it,” he grumbles darkly. Rose rolls her eyes.

Rey stares hard at the ground. She feels exhausted now. How could they ever know what she knows about Kylo? How could they ever understand?

They never will and they never can. Their support is all that matters.

She shrugs.

Now that Rose has spoken up, she feels all the betrayal and anger melt away from her limbs. She feels so silly for yelling now, but she couldn’t help it in the heat of the moment. Her temper has always gotten the better of her.

She clears her throat, hoping that her voice will come out softer. More apologetic.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” Rey says, staring at both of them in turn. “But you don’t have to worry.”

Rose smiles secretly. Finn goes up to hug Rey, and Rey is surprised by the sudden surge of affection. He squeezes her tightly, and she can’t resist the smile that slips onto her face. She hugs back with a laugh.

“If you’re into older men,” Finn begins. “Can you at least choose someone who _isn’t_ your professor?”

Rey and Rose both smack him on the back. He yelps out.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, releasing her. “It’s dangerous. If Echo’s seen the two of you, then who else knows?”

Rey frowns.

“What else is there to know?” she asks. “We aren’t… we aren’t doing anything inappropriate.”

“But people do talk,” he tells her, patting her on the arm. “And rumors get nasty.”

“I don’t care about rumors,” Rey huffs, lifting her chin. She and Finn sink back into the couch, their shoulders pressing against each other’s. She lifts her feet up and sets them on the coffee table in front of them. “People can say whatever they want.”

“Echo’s message wasn’t too bad,” Rose tells her. She brings out her phone and scrolls down, eyes focused on finding her inbox. “What were his exact words? Wait a minute, let me find them…”

Rey buries her face in her hands.

“Can you drop it already? I don’t want to know,” she says, her words muffled.

“Oh my god.” Rose’s voice is small.

“What?” Rey asks. “Is it that bad? What did he say?”

Finn leans over Rose’s shoulder to see her phone.

“It’s not about Echo,” Rose says quietly.

Her brows are furrowed in confusion. Her entire face freezes in shock, and Rey grows concerned. She leans sideward to better see what Rose is looking at.

The girl turns her screen towards Rey. On it is a headline from a news article published by the First Order Press. It’s been linked from a Tweet.

**_Poet Kylo Ren is pseudonym of long-lost celebrity son Ben Solo_ **

_By A. Hux_

“Did you know this?” Rose is asking. But her voice is spotty, barely audible over the high-pitched ringing in Rey’s ears. The world swims in front of her, with nothing but that headline registering in her vision. Once more, her heart sinks into her gut as she’s crippled with a tantalizing fear.

“Oh, no,” she whispers, breathless. “ _Kylo_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title drop! To celebrate this milestone (and all the effort I put into that lovesick poem), I want to recommend some great fiction pieces that helped inspire and shape this story. ~~I was going to use MLA citation as a joke but I don't know how to make that funny for anyone else besides me~~
> 
> 1\. [Strange Weather in Tokyo](https://www.amazon.com/Strange-Weather-Tokyo-Hiromi-Kawakami/dp/1640090169) by Kawakami Hiromi. A quirky love story between a woman in her late thirties and her old schoolteacher. Full of tenderness and isolation, with their companionship turned friendship turned romance explored through dinner at bars and random travel trips. Incredibly poignant.  
> 2\. [someone else's immortality is painful to carry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651212) by bissextile. Incredibly short but incredibly bittersweet--so much melancholy and hope in so few words. I want to play in this universe forever, and yet all we have is the slightest taste... barely on the tip of our tongues. In all honesty, this is my favorite Professor Ren Reylo fic of all time and I seriously think it deserves more attention.
> 
> bonus:  
> 3\. [Kokoro](https://www.amazon.com/Kokoro-Penguin-Classics-Natsume-Soseki/dp/0143106031) by Natsume Souseki. To be honest I feel like the first half is the true heart of this book, but I am incredibly biased. It features another mentor-mentee pair that develops a close friendship ~~though honestly I feel like there could be more~~ , and explores themes of isolation and modernity.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distraction.

Rey waits until she hears the muffled noise of water running from the other room. After being reassured that Finn’s in the shower, she lies back in bed and brings her phone to her ear as the dial tone starts.

She nervously tugs at the edge of her pillowcase as she waits for the other end of the line to pick up.

He answers after only three rings.

Rey opens her mouth as soon as she hears him pick up. It’s odd, she thinks, to be so nervous now when they’ve done this numerous times. Maybe it’s the way his voice crackles over the phone; it rings out hollowly, distantly, as if she’s talking to a tin can. Kylo clears his throat.

“Hello?” he asks. “Rey?”

“Hi,” Rey replies. She presses the phone even harder against her ear to make out the background noise on his end. It sounds vaguely like the shuffling of papers. “Are you busy? Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no. I’m not busy.”

Rey bites her lip as she wonders how else to put it. He sounds a hundred percent normal, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. But if he doesn’t know yet, then isn’t it better for her to tell him gently rather than have him find out from someone else?

Yes, yes. Rey steels herself.

“I saw the article,” she begins, unsure of how to introduce it. Rey spends a few seconds staring up at her cobwebbed ceiling, swallowing a lump in her throat as she wonders how else to put it. Kylo is silent on the other end. She double-checks her screen to make sure that he’s still connected, that he’s still there. “Are you all right?”

He doesn’t speak. She hears another faint creak, one like a chair skidding on a wooden floor. Kylo sighs into the receiver, and it only registers as a puff of air.

“I’m all right,” he replies quietly. “Thank you for asking.”

Rey hugs her knees closer to her chest.

“Why would they do that?” she wonders out loud. She hears him swear darkly, muttering a curse under his breath. Rey frowns. “Kylo? Please don’t do anything stupid.”

He barks out a laugh. The noise is sharp and violent through the phone line. Rey blinks and curls up on her side, wrapping her arm around a pillow to hug it to her chest. She worries for him. She really does.

She always has worried.

“Don’t worry,” he says, amused. It’s almost as if he’s read her mind… or perhaps recognized the tone of her voice. Can he visualize the face she’s making right now? “I won’t do anything stupid. I won’t make it worse.”

“Good.”

Rey hesitates before adding, “At least they didn’t put _everything_ in.”

The article had revelled in its sensationalism. It revealed more than just the connection between Ben Solo and Kylo Ren; it had also filled in the missing puzzle pieces of Ben Solo’s life. Everything from rumors about his parents’ disintegrating relationship to stories of his teenage rebellion had been included. The one bright side—if it could even be called a bright side—was that it hadn’t even touched on Han Solo’s death, only choosing to mention that he’d been killed in a robbery just as his wife had publicly announced.

There’s a silence between them, and Rey can almost hear Kylo’s strangled breath.

He swallows audibly over the phone.

“That’s because they don’t know,” he murmurs. “Nobody does. Except you… and my mother.”

“What?” Rey asks. “What do you mean?”

Of course she knows what he means.

_Killed in a robbery gone wrong._

Another lie.

“I called her first, right after it happened.” Kylo’s voice is small. “She… helped me.”

He doesn’t give anything more. Rey can tell that he’s probably trembling on the other end of the line, and she wants nothing more than to hold him again. Than to look at him in the eyes and see if he wears the same heavy guilt.

But that isn’t all that bothers her.

_She helped me._

She loved you, Rey thinks. With all of her power, with all of her heart, she loved you.

“You mean, even officially…” Rey’s voice trails off. Kylo sucks in a large breath, and she isn’t sure whether it’s a sob or a laugh. Probably both.

“Rey,” Kylo’s voice is tight. “Can we not talk about the article right now? Please?”

Rey instantly sits up.

There are a million more questions brewing in her head. But she can tell that he’s close to cracking, and after seeing him cry—something wild and protective is born inside of her. He is older, yes. Older and bigger and intelligent, but deep down inside…

They are both lost children, him and her. She knows what it’s like to wish she could depend on someone else for once.

This is a conversation for another day.

“Okay, okay. We won’t talk about it. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” She cradles her phone with both hands. She’s about to suggest hanging up when Kylo’s voice interrupts her words.

“We can talk about something else,” he says quietly. His voice rings out with silent longing—Rey can already imagine the way his eyes are downcast. His request catches her off-guard.

But if it’s a distraction he wants then it’s a distraction she’ll offer.

Rey smiles.

“All right then. Tell me about your evening.”

She can tell he’s rolling his eyes. He just is.

“Terribly boring so far,” he murmurs. “I’ve done nothing but grade papers.”

“I thought you said you weren’t busy?”

He makes a strangled noise. Rey bursts into laughter.

“Your turn,” he grumbles, cutting through her giggles.

“I’m supposed to be drafting but I decided to watch a movie instead. That’s one less on my watch list.”

“Procrastinating this late into the semester? Bad girl.”

His voice is flat and deep, only barely rising at the end to signal that he’s teasing. It must be because of the fact that her phone is pressed right into her ear, allowing his words to flow smoothly like butter, that it feels much more intimate than it really is. That his suggestive words take on another potential meaning. Rey buries half of her face into her pillow to try and calm down the heat that floods her skin.

_Don’t, Rey._

“Says the man who’s talking to me instead of checking papers,” she bites back.

“I guess you’re right,” he says lightly. “I am a hypocrite.”

Surely she’s only imagining it, but she thinks that he’s wearing a smirk.

In a lower voice he says, “I have to get back to work but… thank you for calling, Rey. I mean it. Have a good night.”

She wants to say it out loud but she knows it’s dumb. The desire overpowers her for a single blinding moment—a single unreasonable moment. Rey swallows it down and says it in her head instead.

_No. Please stay._

“Goodnight,” she says, sinking further into her pillows. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” he replies, and then the line goes dead.

 

 

When Rey arrives at the classroom with Rose, she finds that the people inside are eerily restless. An uncomfortable hushed silence descends onto them as they approach. It isn’t a complete silence; rather, it’s filled with the veneer of hushed whispers, of turning heads. Everyone’s voices are subdued, but Rey can tell what they’re talking about.

It makes her skin crawl.

As soon as Kylo enters the room, his coattails swishing behind him, the entire class grows still. Three dozen pairs of eyes land on him, but to his credit, he continues on unperturbed. His glasses are perched neatly on his nose, and his expression is serious. He doesn’t glance at anyone as he sets up his materials on the front desk, his movements efficient and mechanical.

Rey bites her lip. She watches him carefully, watches for any sign of distress.

His eyes, usually so expressive, are dark behind his lenses. He looks moody, yes, but that’s his default expression by now. Surely, it’s only Rey who sees the faintest twitch of his lip to signal his discomfort. Surely, it’s only Rey who anticipates it—who catches him flexing his hands, who catches his eyes darting away when he gets too close to making eye contact with a student in the front row.

Her heart clenches inside of her chest.

He plugs in his laptop and the projector roars to life, glowing with a whirr as it reveals his slides.

“’The Eve of St. Agnes’ is one of our last poems for this course. Due to its length, we won’t be able to discuss everything in detail,” he says, voice rising above the quiet. He turns away to face the screen. “We’ll focus on certain stanzas, and then discuss the overall themes.”

He clears his throat.

“Keats begins by setting the scene. He makes sure to emphasize that it’s a cold, frigid winter: with frozen grass, trembling animals, and frosted breaths. Here, you can already see how much importance he gives to describing the scenery.”

Kylo’s voice is subdued, but it grows confident and level as he begins to discuss the poem. As time passes, Rey begins to hear other lively noises: the scratching of Rose’s pen, the shuffling of someone’s papers, the tapping of a foot. Whatever gossip everyone else had been discussing has now been put on hold as the class continues.

Kylo speaks about the virgins’ ritual on the Eve of St. Agnes. He speaks about Madeline, Angela, and Porphyro. His hands are expressive as he describes Madeline’s rituals, Angela’s help, Porphyro’s creeping. He speaks of star-crossed lovers: of noble Porphyro, who is hated by Madeline’s family. He speaks of his passionate heart, his passionate soul, his only wish to see her and hold her and kiss her. He speaks of his promise to treat his lover with gentleness.

_"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"_  
_Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace_  
_When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,_  
_If one of her soft ringlets I displace,_  
_Or look with ruffian passion in her face:_  
_Good Angela, believe me by these tears…_

Finally, finally then, Kylo asks someone to recount how the rest of the poem goes. Nobody raises their hand, so his eyes scan the room. He sets his gaze on a random student at the back row.

“U-um,” the student stammers. He swallows nervously as half of the class sets their eyes on him. But Kylo’s gaze is the heaviest of them all, and his expression is blank as he waits for the boy to speak. “Angela helps Porphyro sneak into Madeline’s room. He hides in Madeline’s closet and, um, watches her… until she goes to bed and falls asleep. Then while she’s dreaming, he comes out with a bunch of food? He plays her a song so she wakes up, they start talking about how much they love each other, and then they run away to be together forever…”

Kylo tilts his head to the side. He steps aside, breaking eye contact, and the boy visibly deflates in his chair.

“A close enough recounting,” Kylo says. “But the beauty of ‘The Eve of St. Agnes’ isn’t necessarily in its narrative. You can’t understand it by only knowing its summary; you need to dive deeper into its lush details, into its scenery.”

He walks swiftly across the width of the front platform. His hands are folded behind his back, and he picks up the pointer to change the slide. Stanzas from the poem are now displayed onscreen.

_He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:_  
_All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords_  
_Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:_  
_For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,_  
_Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,_  
_Whose very dogs would execrations howl_  
_Against his lineage: not one breast affords_  
_Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,_  
_Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul._

“The unforgiving setting isn’t just due to the cold of winter,” Kylo says. “Porphyro describes Madeline’s clan in harsh terms; he compares them to savage dogs. Nothing about this castle is welcoming to a man like him, and he endangers his life just being here. His love for Madeline, his need to see her, is much more powerful when you realize what danger he tempts just by being with her.”

The slide changes again. Two stanzas are placed side-by-side in neat columns.

_A casement high and triple-arch'd there was,_  
_All garlanded with carven imag'ries_  
_Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,_  
_And diamonded with panes of quaint device,_  
_Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,_  
_As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;_  
_And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,_  
_And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,_  
_A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings._

_Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,_  
_And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,_  
_As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;_  
_Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,_  
_And on her silver cross soft amethyst,_  
_And on her hair a glory, like a saint:_  
_She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,_  
_Save wings, for heaven:—Porphyro grew faint:_  
_She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint._

Rey doesn’t read the entire thing. She decides to focus more on Kylo’s words, on his face as he continues his speech. She scans his expression for the barest hints of nervousness, of anxiety, but surprisingly she finds none. She releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

He’s doing all right.

“Compare the way the scenery is described at the beginning of this poem to the way it’s described once Porphyro reaches Madeline’s chamber,” he says. “There is no hint of a cold, unforgiving winter here. There are no beasts out for blood. Porphyro describes the room lusciously and with great care. There is ripe life in the décor: fruits and flowers, gorgeous dyes, a tiger moth… And of course,” He turns his head to look at the second stanza. His lips purse together. “The way he describes Madeline—soft and luminous, like an angel or a saint—she’s the most beautiful thing in this poem, and we finally see her from his eyes. We see how deeply Porphyro loves her.”

His voice trails off into a whisper. Kylo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He turns away before Rey can see the expression in his eyes, but somehow she just knows that they’re shining with emotion.

“In the end, when the lovers meet, dreams have melded with reality.” He steps back to throw the rest of the room a single, casual gaze. “They have a passionate reunion, and Madeline can scarcely believe that her lover is really here with her. In a rare case, the two have a happy ending, and flee the room.”

He swallows.

“In a cold winter, their love burns more warmly than anything else.”

Kylo pauses, waiting for any potential reactions. But the room is mostly silent, with at least a quarter of the class zoned out. Rey frowns, wondering if that’s really just _it?_ Kylo turns to the next slide, and she can tell that he’s about to move on about the technicalities of the poem, about to talk more in depth about certain imagery. She huffs and raises her hand.

Kylo notices. He gives her a small nod, his voice politely curious.

“Do you have a question, Miss Kenobi?” he asks.

“Yes, I do. Do you think the poem’s as simple as talking about _star-crossed lovers_?” she asks. Her voice comes out accusing, and Kylo’s eyes wrinkle in mirth. She hadn’t meant to be so loud, but that’s how she usually talks to him when they’re outside of class. A few students glance at her. She can even feel Rose’s stare digging a hole into the side of her head.

Kylo shoves his hands into his pockets and speaks neutrally.

“A usual complaint about this poem is that barely anything happens,” he says. “But if you have a varying opinion, then you can share it with the class.”

Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes. He’s being difficult on purpose.

“Let me rephrase,” she says clearly. “It _is_ about star-crossed lovers meeting. But I don’t think it’s as simple as that. And I don’t think Porphyro is as noble as we’re led to believe.”

At this, Kylo stares up at her curiously.

“You don’t approve of his actions?” he asks. Rey shakes her head.

“From the way he describes Madeline, from the way he _watches_ her, it’s clear that his _desire_ for her is overpowering his brain.” Rey works her mouth. “It’s so distasteful. He might love her, but he doesn’t have to be a creep about it.”

Kylo leans his hip against his desk. His eyes are smiling.

“How is he a creep?” he asks, guiding her along. Rey wants to jab at him, wants to say _I know that you know what I’m talking about_ , but they’re in _public._ Kylo, the devil, smirks when he adds, “It’s all right. You can say it. We’re all adults here.”

Rey struggles to flip through her copy of the poem. Kylo’s smirk _irritates_ her to no end—only because he’s teasing her in class now. If they were alone together, then she’d throw him a quip, but even she knows that they have to maintain _boundaries_ when they’re in the classroom.

“ Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,   
       Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;   
       Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;   
       Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees   
       Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:   
       Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,” Rey recites, her accent clipped and rushed. She looks away from the text and straight into his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if they’re lovers. She doesn’t know that he’s there. He’s a pervert that watched her _undress_.”

“It’s true,” Kylo agrees. “Those aren’t the actions of a true gentleman.”

“Don’t even get me started on how he approaches her while she’s—while she’s _asleep and dreaming_ ,” Rey continues.

“You seem to have interpreted the poem differently,” Kylo muses. He’s _definitely_ holding back a chuckle now, and Rey gets even more pissed—only because she knows that he’d be less smug about it if they were alone.

“How else am I supposed to interpret it?” Rey asks. “Madeline _moans_ and _pants_ and Porphyro _melts into her dream.”_

Her words are sharp. When she speaks like this, it feels familiar—it’s like they’re in the noodle shop, or in Maz’s, or debating over literature in his office. Nothing is different.

Her hand covers a printed stanza.

_Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far_  
_At these voluptuous accents, he arose_  
_Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star_  
_Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;_  
_Into her dream he melted, as the rose…_

Kylo crosses his arms over his chest. He hasn’t looked away from her once, and Rey feels emboldened rather than shy with the intensity of his gaze. She’s still frowning, but as he begins to speak—that voice deep and mellow—her mouth quivers.

“You’re right,” he says. “’The Eve of St. Agnes’ is actually very subtly erotic.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Just as Porphyro’s love burns brightly during a cold, winter evening, so does—“

The edge of his lip quirks up subtly.

“Their passionate embrace,” he finishes.

Rey huffs. _What a cop out._

“You don’t seem satisfied by that answer,” he says upon seeing her reaction.

“It’s not that I’m unsatisfied,” Rey replies. “It’s just that you didn’t touch on that _questionable_ interpretation until I asked.”

“You think I should entertain every interpretation?”

“I think you should entertain the logical ones.”

“Logical? By whose standards?”

“I know that they’re logical by mine, and also should be by _yours._ ”

“I’m afraid that the department-approved syllabus doesn’t always let me discuss my opinions on the poetry, lest it deviate from the course.”

“That’s never stopped you before. Sir.”

A low-pitched _“oooooohh”_ erupts from one of the front rows. Rey’s head snaps to the student’s direction, and she almost falters when she realizes that the entire class is staring at her right now. Various faces are trained on her in various states of shock: wide eyes, raised brows, slack jaws, and even… horrified realization? Suspicion?

“You’re right. Thank you for bringing up a good point, Miss Kenobi,” Kylo murmurs. He adjusts his glasses with two fingers and then stands up straight, squaring his shoulders. He spares Rey only a single glance—one that barely even touches on her face—before looking around the rest of the room, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I wish I could engage all of you more on that reading, but unfortunately, we don’t have any more time.”

He shakes the watch on his wrist.

“This is just an introductory course,” he continues. “But if you’re really interested, then you could go ask the English Department for a list of more advanced classes.” His lip twitches. “Or you could take my class specializing in Byron, which I’m teaching next semester.”

As if on cue, the bell rings. Everyone’s attention is snapped back to other things, and people begin packing away their things even before Kylo can wave them away. Rey slumps backwards against her chair in relief, realizing that nobody’s looking at her anymore.

Kylo takes his time to pack up, but he doesn’t look up for one moment. Rey rushes outwards with Rose, her head bent down, and they don’t even glance in each other’s direction as they leave.

 

 

“Soo,” Rose says, extending the vowels of her _o._ They’re walking side-by-side, their footsteps clacking in unison. “That was intense.”

Rey bites her lip.

“For a moment it was like both of you didn’t even realize the rest of us were there,” Rose continues. She states it with a factual clarity—one without even an attempt at judgement. Somehow, that makes Rey feel even worse.

“Is that bad?” Rey asks. She notices Rose tilt her head in a clueless gesture from the edge of her vision.

“Other people might find it strange,” she says, not bothering to answer Rey’s question directly. “You were pretty mouthy, and I think a lot of people were just amazed that you had enough courage to do that.”

Rey shrugs one shoulder.

“And he _let_ you speak without even bothering to interrupt or get angry.”

 _He never interrupts_ , Rey thinks. _He never gets angry at me. The only time he got angry at me was when I said something terrible. He’s always so gentle with me, so accommodating._

The realization stuns her for a fraction of a moment. She feels like she’s been punched in the gut. Rose continues on without stopping, though.

“I can tell that he respects you a lot,” she says. “And I’m glad.”

Rey offers a small smile.

“It’s bad enough that everyone’s giving him unwanted attention for that article,” Rey says. “I don’t want to make it worse. I just couldn’t help it.”

“Hmmm.”

“What does that mean?” Rey asks, casting her friend a sidelong glance. Rose hums again.

“It’s not just you, you know.”

“Huh?”

“A student mouthing off at Professor Ren and leaving unscathed? That’s _one_ thing.” Rose pauses. “But a student mouthing off and getting that _reaction…_ ”

Rey raises a brow.

“You mean, the fact that he agreed with me?” she asks.

“No, I mean the way he was _looking_ at you.”

Rose throws her a knowing smile. Rey opens her mouth to retort, but she realizes that they’ve reached the front of another building. Rose grins when she spins away, her head turned back as she leaves with a final wave.

“Got to head to class. See you later!” she exclaims before disappearing into a corner. Rey calls out to her, but Rose doesn’t respond—and soon enough, she’s vanished.

Rey steps backwards with a sigh. She still has to head to her shift. Finals are coming up soon.

There are other things she has to focus on.

But still, she can’t get Rose’s words out of her mind… and all that they imply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Eve of St. Agnes](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44470/the-eve-of-st-agnes), which is basically a 19th century smut fanfic (lol). This thing is so oddly erotic. I wonder what Keats thought of it...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Offense and defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: The amazing Ntantzen made [another moodboard for this chapter!](https://twitter.com/nancylovesreylo/status/1017769040146718720?s=20) Thank you so much, Nancy <3

Kylo _seemed_ all right in the classroom, but what if he really isn’t? What if he needs her help?

She needs to clarify that for herself.

She remembers all of those strange looks everyone had given her after their debate in class. She isn’t one to care about what other people think of her, but she doesn’t want to make things worse for _him_.

There is so much between them that remains unsaid. It can’t come out over the phone, and it can’t come out in the classroom—not in a room full of other people. If they are to be themselves, if they are to lay themselves bare in front of each other once more, then it has to be on neutral ground.

In a place that is theirs, that is untouched by the outside world and whatever else it thinks.

Rey isn’t sure where he is at this moment. He isn’t answering her calls, which _shouldn’t_ be too worrying—and yet she has a bad feeling about it.

There’s one place she can check, though.

She goes up the stairs two steps at a time. The English Department glows with light as usual, and she passes it without sparing another glance. When she approaches his office, she realizes that there’s another loud sound that’s even more audible over her footsteps and her panting breaths.

“Who gave you the right?!”

That angry male howl is undeniably Kylo’s voice.

“I don’t work for _you_ , Ren,” another male voice snarls.

Rey silently creeps towards the office and peeks through the half-opened door. She sees Kylo standing in the middle of the room, his face contorted into a snarl. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and he leans forward aggressively into another man’s face—his teeth bared to attack. She sees nothing but pure _rage_ in his expression, and it’s countered by the other man’s pinched scowl.

The other man is just as tall as Kylo is, but much more slender. He’s got a head of bright red hair, and when he turns his head slightly to the side, Rey sees an angry vein on his throat.

His face seems familiar.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat you to a pulp right now,” Kylo snaps, his voice low and dangerous. He growls, hair flying wildly as he jolts forward. The other man doesn’t even flinch.

“ _That’s new_. Everyone already knows you lost everything,” the red-haired man drawls, his voice falling in faux-sympathy. “Are they going to watch you lose your job too?”

A flame of fury passes through Kylo’s eyes. He draws his fist back, ready to strike, and it’s as if the world moves in slow motion as Rey throws the door open and runs inside, her voice stripped out of her mouth before she can even think.

“No! Don’t!” she yells, her hands held out.

Both men turn to look at her. The red-haired man looks irritated, but his face makes way for a procession of other emotions: confusion, and then, darkly, a smug understanding. He steps aside, out of the way of Kylo’s fist.

Meanwhile, the rage melts out of Kylo’s face, out of his arms. He drops his fist to his side. His eyes grow wide beneath his glasses, and his mouth drops open in shock. He stares at Rey with passionate, slack-jawed disbelief.

“Rey?” he whispers. Her name comes unbidden from his lips.

“Wait,” she says loudly. “Please don’t fight.”

The red-haired man stares at Rey with about as much respect as he would a piece of gum clinging to his shoe. His lip curls downwards.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t the teacher’s pet. How heartwarming.” His voice dips down in a sarcastic wave. “Are you here to comfort him? Offer some _favors_ to raise your grades?”

Rey freezes at his accusation. But before she can even reply, Kylo disappears in a whirl of movement. He shoves the red-haired man against the wall and pins him by his shirt collar, Kylo’s arm barred against the other man’s throat. The red-haired man struggles, his face turning pink with exertion as he claws at Kylo’s wrist.

“Leave her alone,” Kylo spits. His eyes are narrowed. “This is between you and me, Hux.”

_Professor Hux?!_

The red-haired man, Hux, tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a wheeze. Rey runs up to both of them, about to pull off Kylo’s hands from the other man’s neck.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Hux wheezes out. “You never told her about who you really are.”

“I know everything,” Rey interjects. She stomps up to him and goes up on her toes to glare. Hux still towers over her, but he isn’t as threatening now that he’s pinned to the wall. “And stop talking to me like that.”

She glances up at Kylo.

“Let go of him,” she says. “Come on, Kylo. He’s not worth it.”

Hux rolls his eyes.

Kylo swallows. He falters for a moment, but instead, he looks away from Rey’s gaze and instead focuses again on the man he’s pinned against the wall.

“Not until he tells me why he did it,” Kylo says through gritted teeth. “Traitorous piece of shit.”

“You still don’t get it?” Hux asks. Kylo’s grip loosens ever so slightly, and the red-haired man’s voice rises in volume. “I did you a _favor_. Your sales have been stagnating, Ren. When was the last time you published anything new? When was the last time that you were awarded for something that you’d written within the past year? Our editor just wanted to give you a little… boost in popularity. Now that your story’s out, everyone will be dying to buy your books. It’s a win-win situation.”

Kylo slams his free hand against the wall. The entire room shakes, and Rey tugs at his sleeve. Kylo doesn’t shake her off; he doesn’t even seem to have noticed her hold on his arm. He only gives Hux a fiery glare.

“I thought I made it clear that I wanted to make my way through this industry _without using my family’s name,_ ” he says, voice lowering darkly.

“That was ten years ago,” Hux says. “Back when you were getting results. Publish or perish, Ren.”

“You don’t control me.”

“You’re signed with the First Order,” Hux only replies. “You’re _obligated_ to follow us.”

Kylo shakes his head.

“No.” He steps backward, loosening his grip even more. He still has an arm across Hux’s collar, but it’s no longer restrictive. “I quit.”

“What?!” Hux’s voice is explosive.

“I’m leaving the First Order,” Kylo breathes. The words are exhaled in a rush of air, almost as if he can’t believe it himself. He takes more steps backwards, and his hand slowly slides down to his side. His jaw is clenched tight. “I’m not working for you anymore.”

Hux leaps into his face and snarls. Rey feels Kylo shield her with his arm, as if he’s afraid that Hux will step into her personal space as well. She had been too confused to move, but that moment of contact wakes her up like a vat of freezing water thrown over her body. Rey steps backwards and throws Hux a glare, only to find that he isn’t paying any attention to her at all.

“You can’t do that. Your contract hasn’t expired yet,” Hux spits.

“Fuck that,” Kylo replies. “I’m calling my lawyer. Get the hell out of my office, Hux.”

“You’re ungrateful,” Hux says sharply. He steps aside, glaring at Kylo all the while. “If you leave, then we get full control of your profits. Do you realize that? It’s what you signed up for years ago. Co-ownership only when under contract.”

“I don’t care,” Kylo says darkly. “Keep your filthy money. Just get the hell out.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Hux leaves swiftly, his hands clenched at his sides. When he slams the door behind him, the entire doorframe shakes. The sound cuts sharply through the tension in the room. Rey breathes, watching the closed door, before she relaxes her shoulders and carefully turns her head towards Kylo.

He buries his face in his hands. He takes in shuddering breaths, and she sees that his eyes are closed. He mumbles something softly, and she reads his lips—he’s counting numbers from one to ten.

The room is quiet. All she hears is Kylo’s soft breaths: his inhales and exhales. He tries to calm himself down, and she helps him. She rubs his muscled shoulders, her fingers pressing soothing circles into the fabric of his sleeve. Soon, the tension from his body bleeds out, and he finally looks at her with a forlorn gaze.

Rey offers a small smile.

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replies. “I think the more important question is: are _you_ all right?”

Kylo snorts. “I will be.”

He takes a step aside to sit down on a nearby chair. Rey perches on its armrest, looking down at him, watching to make sure that he’s _really_ all right. His lips are pursed tightly as he glares at the floor, lost in thought.

“What are you going to do now?” Rey asks softly. She’s afraid that he’ll do something dumb again.

Kylo sighs and then looks up at her. They eyes meet, and his mouth softens at the edges.

“I’m going to resign from my publisher,” he says. “And then I’m going to continue on as normal, like there’s nothing wrong.”

Rey leans against him slightly, her arm pressed against his.

“If anyone gives you any shit about it, then you better tell me,” she says.

Kylo chuckles. “Most people won’t dare. Besides,” his lips thin out. “I don’t want you to get more involved than you are already.”

“What does that mean?” Rey asks, her voice rising.

“It’s fine if people gossip about me. I’m _Ben Solo_. I’ve been used to it all my life.” His smile is sad, and Rey wishes she could trace it with her fingers. She wishes she could make it happier. “But I don’t want them slandering you too.”

“Is this about what Hux said?” Rey asks. “Because he’s wrong, obviously.”

Kylo snorts. “Hux is full of shit. Ignore what he says. He’s been trying to pull me down since our undergrad years. What I’m really afraid of is…” He glances downwards at her hands on the armrest. “I’m frightened that other people will think badly of you, and that I’ll ruin your reputation.”

Rey shakes her head.

“I don’t care about what other people say about me,” she tells him. “And there’s nothing to ruin. We aren’t… we aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Her elbow nudges his forearm. Kylo’s eyes shine underneath the light.

“You have to admit that our friendship looks… odd to other people,” he murmurs.

_Our friendship._

Rey smiles, even as her heart is tugged violently inside of her chest.

“It’s all looks and hearsay,” she says. “Eventually, they’ll get bored and find other things to fixate on.”

“If someone says the wrong thing about us,” Kylo points out, his voice dipping lower. “Then you could lose your scholarship, and I could lose my job.”

Rey shakes her head. “To do that they’d need _evidence._ Rumors aren’t evidence. We aren’t… we aren’t like Hux has implied.” _Even if I want us to be._ She grips the armrest even harder. “We aren’t doing anything wrong. I don’t see why anyone even _cares_.”

Kylo sighs with his entire body. His broad back hunches over with his breath, and when he looks up at her again, his offers a tiny, resigned smile.

“It’s always nice to hear your optimism,” he quips. “I’m sorry if I worried you. You shouldn’t have to think about these things.”

“Lately, I’ve always been worried when it comes to you.”

They’re both silent. Kylo’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but then he clears his throat. Rey swallows, looking down in embarrassment. He stands up, and their arms are no longer touching.

“I need to make an important phone call,” he says smoothly. He dusts off his trousers. “You’ll tell me if anyone gives you any trouble about this?”

Rey raises an unimpressed brow.

“Will _you_ tell _me_ if anyone gives you any trouble?” she asks.

“Fine,” he murmurs. “I will. But please be careful, Rey.” He pauses, considering his next few words. “Maybe we shouldn’t be seen in public together so closely for a while.”

Rey frowns.

“I should be telling _you_ to be careful. And what are you saying?” she asks sharply. Kylo speaks up again, interrupting her.

“I mean that certain places should be off-limits for now,” he reassures her. “At least until this entire mess has blown over. Maz’s, for example. I never realized how many students frequented that place before, and it’s my fault…”

 _Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?_ Rey wants to spit, but she knows it’s dumb. It’s not the case at all. It’s just that he’s shaken, and rather than being afraid for himself he’s more afraid for _her_.

She stands up and steps closer to shush him.

“If it’s in your office? Or if it’s off-campus,” Rey says. “If it’s a place where nobody knows us, where there are no students or faculty… then is it okay?”

Kylo almost smiles.

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Rey nods. “That’s all I want to hear.”

She steps away, hovering in the direction of the door. Kylo swallows and then turns towards her. She sees the flash of movement and then pauses, looking back at him.

“Rey,” he says. “I’m serious. I don’t want to you to worry, and I don’t want to do anything that would make people think badly of you.”

Rey’s smile curves up into a smirk.

“Are you forgetting, Kylo?” Her voice is confident. “People have been thinking badly of me for a long time, but none of them matter. I don’t care.”

She reaches for the doorknob, turns it open and leaves—but not before flashing him another brilliant, hundred-watt smile.

 

 

The room is dark, and everyone’s faces are cast with shadows.

The lone light source comes from the projector in front. A dull voice drones on and on, accompanied by instrumental music. The next part of the documentary begins, and Rey blinks open groggily, realizing that her wrist has gone sore after falling asleep on it.

Behind her is the noise of hushed whispers. She doesn’t realize that someone’s talking to her until someone taps her on the shoulder. Rey frowns and turns her head to look behind.

“What?” she asks sharply.

Even in the dimness of the room, she can make out three faces. Three girls sit behind her—she only barely recognizes them; all she knows is that they’re obviously classmates in this history class. What surprises her is the third face, the one who had tapped her on the shoulder.

It’s Ponytail girl from Romantic Poetry.

She didn’t even know they were both in history.

“Hey,” Ponytail whispers, ultimately casual. It doesn’t matter how loud she is, though. Nobody else is listening, and whoever isn’t on their phone or laptop is pretty much falling asleep. “We were talking about how weird it is that Professor Byron is actually Senator Organa’s son. Did you ever expect that?”

Rey bristles, instantly jolting. Her mouth falls open, ready to retort, but then she swallows down the hostile words at the last moment. The three girls are staring at her curiously, but it’s _just_ curiosity. They don’t know.

“No,” Rey mumbles. “I never expected it.”

“Right!” says the girl farthest to the left. She’s wearing a denim jacket. “You’d expect Ben Solo to be more _charming_ or something. He’s basically a prince.”

“He could have been a senator or a movie star,” says the girl in the middle. She’s wearing a striped shirt. “But instead he became a grumpy English professor. That is _such_ a waste!”

Rey’s lips thin out.

“That’s what Luke Skywalker did too, remember?” Ponytail interjects. “He was an English teacher before he became a weird hermit.”

Rey turns away. She doesn’t want to listen to any of this.

“Professor Ren would be so dreamy if he became an action star though,” Stripes sighs.

“What?!” Denim Jacket gasps. “What are you talking about? He doesn’t look like an actor at all. His face is so weird.”

“It’s not weird—“ Rey grumbles. She grits her teeth. She wishes that she could focus on the documentary. She wishes that she could just listen to a boring sixty-year-old narrator talk about ancient pottery. But her ears betray her, and she can’t get their conversation out of her head.

“I don’t get you guys,” Ponytail says. Rey can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “He’s a terror.”

“His dad is _Han Solo_ ,” Stripes adds. “Where else do you think he got his tall, dark, and handsome thing from?”

 _Ancient pottery,_ Rey chants mentally. _Traded through the Silk Road. You can tell what century it’s from based on the glaze—_

“No way,” Ponytail scoffs. “Back me up here, Lucy.”

Lucy is Denim Jacket girl, apparently.

“She’s only crazy about him because she’s never taken him before,” Lucy says. “Anyone who takes Professor Ren can tell you just how horrible he is.”

“You guys are so harsh,” Stripes grumbles. “He doesn’t look that bad.”

 _He isn’t that bad_ , Rey mentally screams. She sneaks a glance towards them, her brows narrowed. None of the girls are paying attention to her anymore, and none of them notice her glare.

They end up gossiping a little more about Kylo, although it’s more about how moody he is. At one point they circle back to the Skywalker family—musing about Senator Organa and Han Solo’s love story in particular—before losing interest in the topic. Ponytail mentions someone else—a mutual friend, Rey thinks—and then the three of them are discussing something else entirely.

Rey releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Kylo is a grown man. He doesn’t need protecting.

Then why is she so defensive?

Rey tries not to think about it as the documentary comes to a close.

 

 

If anyone else does give him shit for it, Rey doesn’t know.

Most people are too afraid of him to say it to his face. Whatever gossip Rey picks up from the students is excitable but fleeting—Kylo’s is the kind of secret that’s exposed anywhere on the internet, in gossip columns, in locker rooms, over lunch.

Everyone is too busy and too caught up in their own lives to care for long.

(The world turns, the threat of the first snowfall comes, and Rey realizes just how little people care about Leia Organa and Han Solo anymore. One is a senator, the kind that you respect from a distance but ultimately don’t think about, and the other is an old, dead race car driver who was before their time)

(She considers telling Kylo this, if only to comfort him about his secret. But in the end she knows it’s cruel, so she doesn’t)

It’s unexpected, yes, but everyone around her doesn’t react as badly as she expected. Maybe she only thinks that because she’s had the luxury of time—the news of his true identity had hit her long ago, long enough to make her realize that she would still choose him (that she truly knew him) over anything else.

Still.

Rey slumps forward with a sigh. She pushes around the leftover soup in her bowl with a spoon, staring glumly at the lights reflected in the liquid. An emotion seizes her so violently that she hates it, that she’s downright embarrassed.

She misses him.

When he had said that they shouldn’t be seen together in public, she didn’t realize how much of that extended into her routine. Office visits, weekends at Maz’s, a walk down the stretch of the football field (it had been one time; orange leaves fell and nestled in Kylo’s hair, and he had looked so clueless and confused that Rey couldn’t help but burst into laughter—thereby scaring a couple of sparrows that were hopping near them), dinner at the noodle shop.

For how long has he been nestled into her life? For how long has he seamlessly become part of her routine?

Since when has she been bad at waiting, considering it’s what she’s been doing for almost thirteen years of her life?

There’s an answer there that Rey is still afraid to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to add a part where a journalist ambushes Kylo for an interview, makes him really uncomfortable, and then Kylo runs away AND GRABS REY'S HAND TO DRAG HER WITH HIM... but I couldn't write it properly and tbh after thinking about it, that would be really weird. That would leave us with one pesky journalist loose end which I don't have the patience to tie up lol
> 
> Actually, there are lots of other ideas I had that never made it into this fic. I guess I'll just start explaining them in the author's notes? One other idea is that kid!Rey was adopted by Obi-wan Kenobi (hence her surname), but then he died in an accident and she ended up with Plutt.
> 
> We're nearing the final segment of this fic! Next chapter is an idea that a few readers have asked about ;)


	17. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ponders the present.

The noise of the rain outside is muffled through the glass windows.

Kylo sits perched atop a barstool, his too-long legs folded underneath his seat. He leans his elbow against the wooden countertop, and taps his fingers steadily on the surface. It produces a steady clacking, a spaced out drumbeat; one without a tune or melody.

He sits at the very edge of the counter, far away from the rest of the patrons. The bar is illuminated by dim spotlights, almost orange enough to match the amber-colored liquid in his half-empty glass.

The ice inside has melted, and it leaves condensation on the glass bottom.

A couple enters, both of them arm-in-arm. The woman throws her head back in laughter at something her date says, and they take a seat on the opposite end of the counter.

Of course, Kylo doesn’t really register this. He doesn’t care. The night is late, but he’s still dressed in his work clothes: a navy blue sweater underneath a fitted blazer, its sleeves rolled up until his forearms. His silver watch glints when he moves his wrist to take another sip, but he doesn’t bother to check the time.

If he steps outside now, he knows that he’ll be blinded not by the stars, but by the blur of headlights and neon signs peeking through the cold rain.

(And besides, he isn’t in the mood to go back to his empty house just yet)

This is the excuse he gives himself as he takes another agonizingly slow sip.

The voices of the couple sitting at the other end of the counter steadily flow into Kylo’s ears. He spares them an assessing glance, his expression blank as he watches them silently. They don’t notice his gaze.

They look quite young, perhaps in their mid-twenties. The woman wears her brown locks in a messy bun, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. When the man teases her, she scrunches up her nose in distaste, and Kylo realizes that she’s probably younger than he originally thought.

They might be around Rey’s age, only a year or two older.

He looks away, his hand clenching into a fist.

He’s been teaching for four years. He’s taught countless bright-eyed college students, and watched them grow weary as the semesters pass. He likes some of the Literature majors best—though he’d never admit it—because at least _they_ make an effort.

But he gets it. Life’s a bitch, and for most of these kids, they have better stuff to do than discuss pretty words.

That thought’s partially blasphemy, he thinks. Kylo’s lips quirk up into a bitter smile, and he takes another sip of his drink. It’s sharp against his tongue.

The only student who’d ever stood out was Rey.

He never expected it, of course. He knew she was an Engineering major. He knew she only took his class as an elective, and she made her disdain for Romantic poetry quite clear from the beginning. But at the same time, she analyzed and deconstructed with a frightening intensity, with cutting potential.

And strangely enough, she had sought him out. Again and again. In his office, in the noodle shop, and even at his house—

Can he even admit that he’d been intensely curious about her? From the beginning, when they had their first conversation—their first _real_ conversation outside of the classroom—he’d caught sight of someone bright-eyed and beautiful, but not without their scars.

She’d read his early poetry, for Christ’s sake. And she said she liked it.

He thinks of that time fondly. He could have never imagined that they’d grow close like this, that he’d ever have someone like Rey that he’d spill all his darkest secrets to. They’re so alike in so many ways, he thinks, but also so different.

She blazes through life with a stubborn passion. She fights back with all her teeth. She speaks her mind openly and honestly—and isn’t afraid of him no matter what. Most of all, she’s so _young_ , so full of a vibrant energy that leaves him breathless. He wonders what he’s ever done to deserve to have her in his life, to have her stick to him even after knowing everything.

He wishes that he could tell her how he’s already offered his heart and soul. Nobody else but her has held a piece of him like this. But if she knows just how much power she holds over him, then she might grow afraid of what it means.

Because their friendship—he doesn’t use the word lightly; Kylo Ren does not have _friends_ —needs to stay just that: a friendship. It’s bad enough that one wrong move could get both of them in trouble—although he’d rather die than ever take advantage of his position, take advantage of _her_ —but he also recognizes that there’s a well of distance between them.

She’s only twenty. She has an entire lifetime ahead of her, a bright future that he knows she’d catch with her bare hands. She deserves the world. She deserves a boy her age, not a thirty-year-old man who doesn’t even know what to do with his life.

A thirty-year-old man who knows what he _needs_ but is overpowered with _want._

To be fair, he never expected to even live this long.

But still, she’s _magnetic._ Radiant. Kylo wishes he had more self-control, but he’s tired of pushing everyone away, of being pushed away. He indulges her in everything: random texts, invitations out to lunch and dinner, and even sharing how his day _went_ , for God’s sake, when she prods at him.

He wishes he felt more ashamed at being so weak.

He’s still scowling at the countertop when he feels someone slide into the barstool next to him. Kylo’s scowl deepens—he was enjoying his personal space, _thank you_ —as he looks up to the person next to him. Instead of an apologetic stranger, he’s greeted by a familiar face.

Phasma stares at him with both of her sculpted eyebrows raised.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” she says, ignoring the need for any greetings. Kylo grunts.

“What’s the point? I quit, and I’m not going back.”

Phasma sighs. She holds up a finger to order a drink, and the bartender complies with her request. She doesn’t look at Kylo as she speaks, and the two of them sit side-by-side, a carefully measured space between their bodies.

“It’s not that I’m surprised,” she says, her voice unaffected. “But you make my job so difficult.”

“You’ll have an easier time now that I’m gone,” he replies simply.

The bartender slides Phasma her drink. She takes a single sip.

“What are you going to do next?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

She snorts. “Impulsive as usual.”

“Did you come here just to berate me?”

“No, actually. I figured you’d need some help.”

“You can help me by punching Hux in the face.”

“I heard you already did that yourself.”

“He’s exaggerating again, that bastard. I didn’t even hit him.”

“Hmmm.”

Kylo works his jaw. His grip on his glass tightens.

“But he’s right, you know,” she continues after a moment of silence. The ice cubes in her glass clink together. “You haven’t published any poetry in a while.”

“I’ve been working on a collection,” Kylo murmurs. “Something new.”

“Oh?” Phasma’s voice only slightly betrays her curiosity. “Is this a continuation of that last draft you promised me?”

“Nice try,” he says flatly. He stares at the bottom of his glass. “But I don’t work with you anymore.”

“You could still consult me,” she says lightly. “I’m thinking of freelancing until I find another publishing house.”

At this, Kylo finally turns his head to look at her. He furrows his brows in confusion, but Phasma only inspects her nails.

“You’re jumping ship?” he asks.

She hums. “I’m looking for greener pastures.”

“Don’t be so cryptic.”

She stares at him with an unimpressed, icy glare.

“We took a great risk publishing _that_ article,” she says. “On one hand, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. But on the other…”

“You don’t want your name getting dragged through the mud.”

She smirks.

“Why’d he do it?” he asks. She only leans forward, her elbow pressed against the countertop.

“Why does anyone do _anything_?” she asks in return. “If you want to climb to the top, then you’ll have to step on other people’s heads.”

“Like mine?”

“Publish or perish. There are always younger, newer talents. More relevant bestsellers.”

He snorts. “It wasn’t always about the money. Snoke at least respected my _artistic prowess_ —“

“You really believe that?” she asks him softly.

Kylo shuts his mouth. He seethes silently.

“Well, what Snoke thinks doesn’t matter anymore.” Her red lips curl up into a cruel smile. “It hasn’t mattered in a long time. You’ve always been slow to catch up.”

Kylo doesn’t respond.

“I can’t believe his opinions still have a hold on you,” she says absentmindedly as she swirls the contents of her glass. “Even after all this time.”

Kylo silently counts to ten. The world grows black and red at the edges, and he takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The burst of fury in his veins simmers down quietly, and he focuses on his glass instead of the urge to lash out.

 _You don’t need your pain to write_. _I know you could make something beautiful even if it came from a brighter place_ , Rey had said so casually, so earnestly. It had been the exact opposite of all he’d known, all he’d been _taught._

And yet he’d accepted it so readily because it came from her lips.

Phasma glances at him from the corner of her eye.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she slides in. “The awards are coming up soon. You’ll show up, won’t you?”

He grunts.

“Let me offer you my first consultation for free. Show up to the awards, _talk_ to people, and at least _hint_ at what you’re writing. A little bird told me that a lot of editors are interested in snapping up your next work.”

He frowns at her. “Who’s paying you?”

Phasma laughs. “You showing up and actually socializing would make a lot of people happy, me included.”

He grumbles.

“You should invite the girl too,” she says smoothly. “It’ll make you look more… approachable.”

Kylo spins around to face her again.

“If I find out that you said anything about Rey—“

Phasma throws her head back and rolls her eyes. “Oh, relax. You’re always so intense. I didn’t say anything, and frankly, I don’t have to.”

“What does that mean?” Kylo bristles.

“There are eyes everywhere.” She looks smug. “It’s amazing how oblivious you are.”

“The two of us aren’t—“

“I know you aren’t,” she cuts him off. “You better thank me for putting in a good word. That’s why neither of you have been called by the dean yet, just in case you’re wondering. For once, I’m impressed by your self-control.”

Kylo narrows his eyes.

“Phasma, I’ve been wondering. Why did you give her my address?”

“I got sick of watching the two of you be pathetic,” she says simply.

“Did you _encourage_ her? I could lose my job. She could lose her _scholarship_.”

“I didn’t encourage her to do anything. That was all on her.” She purses her lips. “It’s amusing. You’ve finally found someone to match you.”

Phasma pulls away to take a sip of her drink. She leaves Kylo floundering, his mouth open as he searches for an answer.

“By the way,” she adds. “Relationships are strictly forbidden for as long as the student is taking that teacher’s class, and for as long as they’re under the same department. There have been cases that have broken that rule. As long as nobody points it out, they get largely ignored by the administration. _Discretion is key._ ”

Phasma’s eyes are a piercing blue underneath the bar lights.

“This is the only time that I’d say bureaucracy is your best friend,” she finishes.

Kylo swallows. He continues to stare at her, dumbfounded by that cool, calm explanation. Neither of them speaks, and Phasma ignores him in favor of indulging in the rest of her drink. A casual silence erupts between them, only faintly broken by the sound of the ice in her glass.

Idly, he realizes that the rain outside has stopped.

Something clicks into place inside his head.

“Why are you telling me this?” he can only ask.

Phasma shrugs.

“You’ll owe me for this someday.”

She downs the rest of her glass in one swallow, refusing to speak any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an unfortunate truth about college administrations.
> 
> Anyway, one unused subplot idea I had was about Snoke. Snoke should've been Kylo's old professor when he was an undergrad, and he manipulated and ruined Kylo's life (per canon) before mysteriously passing away and leaving the FO Press in the FO Trio's hands. But that would add more drama to this fic and would make it wayy longer than necessary. So I didn't include it lol
> 
> Chapters 18-19 are completed but 20-22 are not. Will try to keep to weekly updates, but considering we're nearing the end, I want to focus on quality over speed. If a chapter is late and you're curious, feel free to [ask me why on twitter](http://twitter.com/holyrenperor). Or just say hi. I just love to blab and make more reylo friends, honestly.


	18. Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late... but not too late! I just didn't want any chapters after this one to be left on a cliffhanger. Eighteen is necessary for build-up. You can probably tell. I promise you won't have to wait any longer after this... Part Two is about 6k words, so I tried to keep this one short. See you next week!
> 
> UPDATE: Ntantzen made [another perfect moodboard](https://twitter.com/nancylovesreylo/status/1024822204372905984?s=20) for this chapter! She predicted what I had in mind perfectly! Thank you again, Nancy <3

The week before finals passes by in an agonizingly slow whirlwind.

Rey finds herself swamped with work and barely any time to do anything else. She drops a shift at the café to finish an Engineering project dangerously close to its deadline. She studies her history notes while making breakfast and almost burns her eggs in the process. She works on a draft, sitting on the floor of her room and working long through the night, and it’s only when she looks up to adjust the crick in her neck that she realizes hours have passed.

Poe comes over for a study date, but Finn banishes him to the couch for being “too distracting”. Rey laughs out loud as the older man sulks in an armchair, a bag of chips balanced on his knees. He throws her a pleading pair of puppy dog eyes.

“Sorry,” she replies cheerily, turning her head to face him. She heads back to her room after successfully making a mug of tea. “I’ve got work to do. Don’t you have a thesis or something?”

“Don’t remind me!” he yells.

Rey closes the door behind her with a chuckle. She carefully sets her mug down onto her desk, making sure to keep it away from the general vicinity of her laptop. She pulls up her oversized sweatshirt sleeves and then taps the touchpad, watching as the screen flickers to life.

A blinking cursor lies at the end of an unfinished sentence. Rey frowns, scrolling up to reread what she’d already written. At the pace she’s going, she’s sure that she’ll finish her Poetry paper by next week.

Rey takes a small sip of her tea. It burns her tongue slightly and she winces, frowning as she pulls it away from her lips. With a sigh, it’s set back onto the table. Rey pushes it further back against the wall and then stops as it hits a solid object.

_Oh, right._

The curved surface of her mug collides with the sharp edge of a book. Rey picks it up and brings it closer, running her fingers along its embossed cover as she contemplates its presence. She’d returned it back to her table after Rose discovered it, and as time passed it got buried under mounds and mounds of paper again.

He said to return it at the end of the semester, didn’t he? She could return it when she passed her final paper. Rey opens the poetry book Kylo gave her one more time, feeling a tiny spike of regret at not even being able to finish it.

It’s not her fault she’d been too busy.

She flips through it idly, hoping for it to land on a random page. Maybe something interesting. Near the end of the book she notices something wedged between the papers, so she stops and sets it down onto the edge of her desk. She opens it to the bookmarked page. The object is nestled so deeply into the edge of the pages that she’d missed it all the other times.

No, it’s not a bookmark. Rey fishes out a flattened receipt; it’s been long-faded, with most of the details of the purchase now illegible. It’s out of sheer curiosity that Rey even brings it closer to her face, wanting to know whatever it is that Kylo left in this book.

It’s a receipt for a single black coffee. Rey snorts and then sets it down onto her table, a fond smile sliding onto her lips as she thinks that that’s exactly like him. His taste has never changed.

Her fingers are still trapped between the pages. Rey looks down and inspects the poem that had been bookmarked. The bolded title catches her eye instantly. It seems almost incomplete.

_To---_

_To who?_ Rey wonders.

_One word is too often profaned_  
_For me to profane it,_  
_One feeling too falsely disdained_  
_For thee to disdain it;_  
_One hope is too like despair_  
_For prudence to smother,_  
_And pity from thee more dear_  
_Than that from another._

_I can give not what men call love,_  
_But wilt thou accept not_  
_The worship the heart lifts above_  
_And the Heavens reject not,—_  
_The desire of the moth for the star,_  
_Of the night for the morrow,_  
_The devotion to something afar_  
_From the sphere of our sorrow?_

She slides a hand along the book’s hardened spine.

Surely, it doesn’t mean anything, she thinks. The long-forgotten receipt lies innocently on her desk, unaware of its effect. Unaware of its implications.

No, that doesn’t matter.

She reads the poem again, her heart skipping at the final stanza.

Rey Kenobi finally makes up her mind.

 

 

If there is one pleasant surprise this week, it’s the random message that Kylo sends her in the middle of the day.

(They haven’t seen each other in a while, but that doesn’t mean that they’ve stopped talking)

She’s standing dead on her feet, counting down the minutes until the end of her workday. The café is filled to the brim with busy students, their veins filled with caffeine and their eyes glued to their laptop screens. The orders have trickled down to a stop, but they’re still left with a full house. Rey looks around, making sure that nobody else will see her, before fishing her phone out of her pocket.

_KR: Have you ever wanted to see what a literary awards ceremony is like?_

She purses her lips.

_ME: Why? Are you going to win anything?_

He replies surprisingly fast.

_KR: That’s what I’m going to find out._

_KR: But that’s not what matters. Would you like to go? I can email you the invite._

Rey bites her lip.

_ME: Sure, go ahead and email me. I’ll think about it._

_KR: Sent._

Rey taps out of her inbox and then checks the email app on her phone. She refreshes it, waiting for the page to finish loading, and then blinks as a dull notification noise pings out. She opens the new message and realizes that it’s from another email address, not the official university address that Kylo uses.

This might be his personal one.

Upon clicking on the PDF file, she sees the invitation load fully on her screen. It’s designed simply and elegantly, with plain golden text used to fill in the title. There’s a date (a Saturday night, she notes), a venue, a time, and a dress code.

Rey searches the award title on Google. From a quick scan, she can already glean that it’s a prestigious literary award funded by some well-known donors. It’s linked to an organization that she’s vaguely heard of, and she clicks on the website to see what else they have. The site lists previous winners of categories for plays, novels, short stories, and poetry.

She notes that Kylo had won the poetry category about six years ago.

_Huh._

_ME: Are you going?_

_KR: Yes, unfortunately._

_KR: You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I just thought you might be interested. If you really want to get into writing professionally, then this is the right place to get a look at the publishing industry and the literary crowd._

_ME: I’ll see if I’m available that night. I’ll tell you when I figure it out, okay?_

_KR: Of course. Don’t worry about it._

Rey pockets her phone back into her jeans and then swallows down a nervous lump in her throat.

She doesn’t know why the idea makes her so nervous.

 

 

“You have to go!” Rose exclaims. “He invited you!”

Rey sinks further into the mattress. She covers her face with her hands.

“You’re more excited about this than I am,” she mumbles. Rey feels the bed dip down, and she senses Rose flop onto the space next to her. The girl’s knee lightly nudges the side of hers.

“Aren’t you going to be his plus one?”

Rey can hear the grin in her friend’s voice. She’s glad that at least one other person is on her side about this… If only Rose’s fantasies were _real_ , of course.

“We’re going separately,” Rey replies simply. “I’m not his _plus one_. I keep telling you. We aren’t like that.”

“Mhmm,” Rose makes a dismissive noise.

“ _Really_ ,” Rey insists. “Besides, he’s my professor. That isn’t… It’s not _allowed_.”

Rey sighs and sets her arms down at her sides. She stares up at her cobwebbed ceiling, frowning as the words come out of her mouth. She doesn’t care what other people think of her. She doesn’t care if they approve or disapprove. What goes between her and Kylo is their business.

But she understands that _he_ cares. He’d changed his name, refused to do interviews, and generally kept to himself all because he wanted to get away from it all—from the Solo-Skywalker family name, from the press, from the attention. She thinks of him: distant and aloof, often unapproachable, flinching at the slightest hint of contact. Fleeing.

She remembers the insults Hux had spit at her. She remembers the way Kylo’s shoulders shake. If anything _did_ happen, if anyone reported them, if Hux took his grudge too far and launched an investigation…

His job. Her scholarship. Their innocent moments together: the quiet afternoons, the cozy dinners, the texting. The way his eyes light up with passion whenever he discusses his favorite poetry.

Sharing classes with Rose. Rooming with Finn. The workshop projects that she spends late nights on, that she holds up proudly. The degree that’s only got two more years until it’s completely in her hands—the degree that Plutt never thought she’d get.

All of it could disappear in a flash of smoke—

If they were actually doing something _wrong_ , which they aren’t.

(And she knows Kylo would protect her. If he’d elbow Hux for insulting her, then what more would he do if the man even attempted to file a case?)

Rey turns her head to look at Rose, slightly afraid of whatever expression her friend is wearing. To her pleasant surprise, Rose only shrugs, her happy smile as normal and constant as ever.

“I know,” Rose says quietly. “Sorry I keep teasing you about it.” She pauses, as if considering the words carefully. “But you know, everything will be fine after the semester ends, right? Grades come out, the semester will end, and nobody will care as long as you’re discreet.”

Rey’s mouth falls open like a fish. She doesn’t know how to react.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Rose tugs Rey up by her wrist. The taller girl supports herself on an elbow before sitting back up, her hair falling and framing her face. “I know what that award is. Paige is going there as a volunteer, so you won’t be _entirely_ alone.”

“She is?”

“Yeah, but it’s just her. Don’t worry.” Rose grins. “And she’ll be busy with the ceremony all night, so I doubt she’ll even notice if anything… happens.”

“ _Nothing_ will happen. What are you even saying?!” Rey’s voice rises in an unseemly screech, and her cheeks instantly flush with embarrassment.

“I’m _saying_ that you need to find a dress! Come on, Rey, we don’t have much time!”

“What are you… I don’t need—“

Rose drags her out of the room.

 

 

“I can’t afford any of these,” Rey hisses. Her hands are drowned in fabric—smooth silk, lace, cotton, mesh and tulle—and she’s afraid to even wrinkle any of the dresses in her grip. Rose is holding another hanger up next to her.

“You’re not buying them,” Rose explains. “You’re renting them out. It’s much cheaper, I promise. I have Paige’s discount card.”

There’s nothing more wasteful, Rey thinks, than spending a ton of money on a dress that she’ll only wear once. But renting it frightens her as well. With how much of a slob she is, and with all of her luck, she’s afraid that she’ll spill something and stain her clothes. How much would _that_ cost?

She had flipped the tags over once, only glancing at them for a split second. But that split second was enough, and the price is now embedded behind her eye lids.

“Rose—“

“Just try them on!” Rose interjects. She grins widely as she pushes Rey backwards, right into the direction of the dressing room. “There’s no harm in trying them on.”

Trying them on _would_ be the easiest part of this day, Rey thinks. She’s spent the past hour following Rose around as the shorter girl ooh-ed and ah-ed, grabbing from one rack and another, holding up dresses against Rey’s frame. This is one area that Rey knows is out of her expertise, and frankly, she doesn’t care if it’s in style as long as she follows the dress code and doesn’t have to sacrifice any meals for it—

Rose is giving her a pointed stare, her brow raised. Rey flounders, the clothes still in her arms.

“We won’t get anything that you don’t like,” Rose tells her. “Trying things on is half of the fun. Do it for me, at least. Please?”

Rose’s sunny smile is one that she can never say no to.

Rey grumbles and slides the dressing room curtains shut between them.

As soon as the curtains are shut and Rose’s face is no longer in sight, Rey inhales a large breath. The room is silent and only slightly stuffy, with the lights from overhead bright and blinding, reflecting off of the mirror behind her. She carefully hangs up the dresses on the hooks to the side, working her lip as she inspects them in a row.

The truth is that she’s never had to wear anything formal in her life. Growing up, clothes had never been a priority. As long as she was warm and not naked, then all was good. Tight dresses, fashionable skirts, pretty shoes—

She’s a bit overwhelmed at even being _inside_ this store.

At least Rose had chosen for her. That’s one less problem.

Rey carefully reaches out to feel the fabric of the clothes hanging in front of her. They’re all smooth and sleek underneath her fingertips. Well-tailored. Well-designed. Expensive. The kind of dress that a proper woman would wear—a woman who attends galas and awards ceremonies and probably earns Rey’s yearly salary in a single month.

She might be exaggerating, but this is new territory.

Rey purses her lips and blindly tries on the white dress in the middle. It’s the most conservative out of the three—even though Rey herself isn’t conservative—and she feels like it’s the one that would make her stick out less. Getting out of her simple jeans and sweater feels freeing, and she tugs the new outfit over her torso.

Once she finishes adjusting the dress, she blinks and stares at the mirror. It hugs her torso and her waistline before flaring out slightly at her thighs, making her look older. More sophisticated. Rey traces the asymmetrical v-shaped cut at her collar, marvelling at how it clings to her bust and aligns with her collarbones.

 _Boring_ , she thinks. It surprises her. _But also safe._

She snaps a picture and then rushes to get it off.

The second dress is much shorter. She grimaces as she tugs it down, realizing that the hem skims the middle of her thighs. It’s also form-fitting, revealing her slender frame and her slightly muscled shoulders. The dress is in a bright shade of emerald green but she doesn’t mind that too much—it reminds her of trees in a forest, or maybe a spring day.

The worst part, Rey thinks, is having to look at herself in the mirror and realize that this dress isn’t exactly made for her.

She’s tall, yes. Slender. Fit. But she’s hyperaware of her smallness, of all the other ways that she’s lacking—things that never bothered her before because they were carefully tucked away underneath a loose shirt or covered by her jeans.

Two slits come up high on either end of her skirt. They’re covered by a pattern of lace, but the skin of her thighs still peeks through. Rey brushes down her skirt and notes the places that her body should be filling out, notes how there are flatter surfaces and sharp edges where instead there should be softness. Femininity.

She snaps a picture, if only to prove to Rose how much this one wouldn’t work, and then instantly tugs it off.

 _Why am I doing this?_ Rey thinks. _Why do I bother? Nobody will care. I don’t care—_

That isn’t true.

This isn’t Jakku, Rey thinks. She’s no longer a little girl. She isn’t under Plutt anymore.

Wanting things that she doesn’t need, facing her fears, having a hobby that isn’t tied to how much money she’ll make at the end of the day, reading _poetry_ when she could be studying engineering—what’s so wrong with all of that?

So why is she afraid of facing _this?_

(Is it because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s also dressing up to prove something to him?)

Rey hugs her arms to her chest and then inspects the last item. She takes her time putting it on.

The last dress is black and lightly patterned. Rey stares at herself in the mirror, catches her messed up hair in the reflection. The halter neck makes her arms look strong, well-defined. She rubs her arms and inspects the embellishments on her torso. She feels the surface of a beaded blue flower with her fingertips, relishing in the roughness of the embroidery—the rest of the dress fabric is smooth against her skin.

She hums.

The hemline of the skirt falls to her knees. It isn’t full and puffy, but neither is it tight nor restrictive. Rey looks at the girl in the mirror and finds that she isn’t grimacing. She isn’t stiff.

She isn’t like a lost child playing dress up, trying to fit into a place where she doesn’t belong.

Rey hesitantly snaps a photo. When she looks at it on her screen, she realizes that it’s strange—she almost doesn’t recognize herself. The dress gives her a strange softness, a careful femininity.

It’s a look she hasn’t dared to see in herself, not with the harshness that she’d been weaned on.

It feels _too_ new.

Rey carefully peeks through the curtain. She looks left and right, but there’s no sign of Rose. She frowns, wondering where the other girl went.

In a fit of confusion, or bravery, or perhaps just foolishness, she sends all three images to Kylo with an accompanying message.

_Me: I’m trying out dresses for the awards night. What do you think?_

_Me: I don’t want to get kicked out for not following the dress code_

His reply is almost instant. He must have been on his phone already.

_KR: You won’t get kicked out._

_KR: They all look lovely on you._

Rey huffs.

_Me: Thanks, but I still need help deciding. Rose just disappeared so I don’t know who else to ask._

_Me: Which one do you like best?_

She bites her lip and grips her phone. It’s a simple question that requires a simple answer. She doesn’t know why her heart is suddenly pounding in her chest, or why her throat is dry. Kylo takes his time to type, which makes it even worse.

_KR: You should wear what YOU like best, Rey._

She rolls her eyes.

_Me: If I knew which one I liked best then I wouldn’t have asked you_

_KR: Okay then. Let’s talk it through. What do you like and dislike about each of them?_

Rey snorts. Somehow, Kylo makes everything sound so serious.

_Me: The white one is nice and simple. I don’t want to wear something too crazy. But I’m scared that I’ll spill something on it and stain it forever._

_Me: Also, it feels kinda boring_

_KR: Agreed._

_Me: If you found it boring then you should have said so!_

_KR: It doesn’t matter what I think. You should wear whatever you want and whatever makes you feel good. My opinion would have swayed you._

It’s irritating and very unhelpful, but Rey can’t help the smile that slips onto her face.

_Me: That is sooo not helpful_

_KR: What about the green one?_

_Me: It’s really pretty_

_Me: But it really doesn’t feel like… me_

_KR: I understand_

_Me: You agree?_

_KR: You look beautiful in it. But people can tell when you’re uncomfortable in what you’re wearing. It transfers to your body language and your confidence._

_Me: Is that why you’re always so well-dressed all the time? LOL Always in black too._

She blatantly ignores his compliment, even when her cheeks are flaming hot.

_KR: People tend to stay away from me when I’m dressed in all black. That’s all I want._

_Me: I’m assuming you’re wearing black to the event then?_

_KR: Take a wild guess._

She rolls her eyes.

 _Then we would match,_ she thinks, and then instantly buries that sentence away into the very back of her brain.

_Me: Actually, I think I like the black dress the most._

_Me: It’s just weird to me because I don’t usually wear things like that. It feels so delicate._

_KR: That’s not a bad thing._

_Me: I’m not delicate._

_KR: I know you aren’t._

She bites her lip.

_Me: I might take it._

_KR: Good. It’s stunning. You better._

And then almost two minutes later, right after Rey’s wiggled out of the dress and has pulled on her jeans:

_KR: I like seeing you in black._

She doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t add anything else.

(But she does buy the dress. Only because Paige’s discount is much, much better than expected, she tells herself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[To--- by Shelley](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45145/to-) EDIT: Because nobody has commented on it yet, yes, this is the page that Rose stumbled across previously  
> -[The white dress](http://daisyridleystyle.tumblr.com/post/135153665466/december-3rd-2015-time-magazine-roland)  
> -[The green dress](http://daisyridleystyle.tumblr.com/post/136830499906/2015-unknown-photoshoot-elie-saab-pre-fall-2014)  
> -[Inspo for the black dress](http://daisyridleystyle.tumblr.com/post/134492687791/november-23rd-2015-jimmy-kimmel-live-david)
> 
> For the longest time, I was writing multiple chapters with [this dress](http://daisyridleystyle.tumblr.com/post/168112174911/december-1st-2017-visits-jimmy-kimmel-live) in mind. But even though Daisy looks great in it, it really doesn't suit Rey's character. I think she would be much more comfortable in the David Koma dress.
> 
> I never thought that I would ever write what's basically a ~make-over transformation scene. I tell myself I won't write the cheesiest tropes but I do anyway. Please take this chapter away from me.


	19. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An answer.

As soon as Rey steps inside the ballroom, she feels utterly lost.

The room is large but only half-filled. Guests of all sorts are scattered about, most of them engaged in pleasant conversation. Three old men by the door shake hands and laugh about something the other one had done in London; Rey only narrowly slips through them, barely avoiding crashing into their bodies as they block the way. As she finds some breathing room, a passing waiter offers her a drink from his tray. Rey takes it gratefully, offering him a nod as he leaves. She brings the glass to her lips, and is instantly hit by the bitterness of the wine.

She takes another sip though, her eyes scanning the room as she looks over her glass. She doesn’t recognize _anyone_ here, even though she’s sure that Paige said she’d already arrived. If anything does make her feel better, it’s the fact that she’s followed the dress code for once. The guests aren’t in fancy suits or gowns, but they’re definitely dressed formal and sleek, with the silk, well-tailored edges of _these shoes cost your entire year’s salary._

Once again, thank god for Rose.

Rey sighs, hoping to loiter around the refreshments table. She already spots it on the other end of the room—there’s a colorful collection of interesting-looking sandwiches—so she licks her lips and makes her way there, glass of wine still in her hand. Her flat shoes allow her to make more movements (she’d rather die than wear heels), so soon enough, she’s cut through half of the room with swift footsteps.

To her disappointment, she realizes that the caterers haven’t finished setting up yet. Rey loiters at the side of the table, craning her neck as she watches them line up pastries in neat rows.

She takes a few more sips of wine to tide her over. Once again, Rey digs out her phone and checks her inbox. Kylo hasn’t replied, but Paige has. She says that she’s headed there.

Rey looks up.

Paige’s smile is bright amongst the sea of guests. The older girl rushes forward, her heels clacking as she takes quick strides. Paige is dressed in a flowy cream top and smart trousers, and Rey takes a moment to admire how put together she is before she’s pulled into a tight embrace.

“Rey! I’m so glad you could make it,” Paige says, pulling away. “It’s always good to see another familiar face.”

Rey laughs. “It’s always good to see a familiar face, _period_.”

Paige’s eyes glint with a smug twinkle. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks. Rose picked it out.”                            

“My sister said you wanted to see what the literary awards are like.”

“Is that what she said?”

“It was heavily implied.”

“…Ah.”

“It’s a shame you came alone.”

Rey’s smile grows thin. “I’ll manage.”

Paige’s head whips around as an older woman calls out her name. The older girl steps aside and sends Rey a goodbye wave.

“So sorry, Rey. I have to help set up. Maybe we can catch up later after the event? Be careful and have fun!”

Paige runs off before Rey can even return her words. The brunette sighs as she watches Paige go, watches the older girl disappear into the crowd. Rey takes another sip of wine and then stands by the wall, deciding that it’s better to people-watch.

Sure enough, everyone that passes her hovers around confidently, perfectly aware that they fit the crowd. Everyone strides around with casual purpose, with candid smiles. Couples pass her, their arms linked, their chins held high. It might be a literary awards ceremony by name but Rey can already tell that it’s really a _party_ by nature—a party monopolized by the rich, famous, and self-important.

She crosses her arms over her torso, the wine glass covering the bottom of her face. Rey doesn’t _feel_ pathetic standing here all alone, but she does realize quite quickly that everyone but the waiters has been ignoring her.

Well, that suits her just fine.

Her purse vibrates against her hip. Rey snaps it open and digs out her phone, sees that she’s received one new message. She opens the conversation and smiles upon reading its contents.

_ME: Hey, I just arrived  
sent 30 minutes ago_

_KR: Sorry I didn’t see this. My agent wouldn’t shut up._

Rey considers sending a reply. Her thumb hovers over the keypad for a few seconds but then she ultimately decides against it. She returns her phone into her purse and then looks up into the crowd, making up her mind to look for him in person.

She’s got nothing better to do anyway.

Rey carefully weaves through the mass of guests, avoiding carelessly-held glasses of wine and puffy skirts. She holds up her hand politely to excuse herself whenever groups block the way, and then offers a shy smile as an apology.

Nobody spares her more than a second-long glance.

_Where is he?_

Her own question is answered when she faces the front of the room, goes up on her tiptoes, and squints. One man’s head catches her attention instantly.

He towers over everyone else.

Kylo’s expression is grim and closed-off, his brows furrowing together as he runs a hand through his hair. The man talking to him—talking at him, rather—is stout and large, but not even tall enough to reach Kylo’s chin. He raises his glass in a mock toast and Kylo only glances down at it, his lips twisting in discomfort.

He rubs his arm and Rey notices that he’s dressed head to toe in a black suit again. His silky black shirt is only a smidgen lighter than his black tie, and it molds to his figure perfectly, making him seem powerful and dignified. Brooding.

Magnetic.

Rey watches him over the rim of her glass. She figures she should leave—he looks busy—but she can’t look away. She wonders if that older man is his agent. It would fit.

Kylo looks up at Rey’s direction.

The moment Kylo recognizes her, his eyes brighten up with wonder. The stout man is still talking but it’s clear that Kylo’s no longer listening to him—he doesn’t even spare him another glance. Rey offers a shy smile, a tiny toast of her mostly empty wine glass. She doesn’t expect him to come over to her _immediately_ , and what’s even more unexpected is the way he waves off the older man with a dismissive, almost disrespectful flick of his wrist.

Rey snorts into her drink.

She stands still as he approaches, all of his largeness pressed into a sleek suit, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets.

“You made it,” he says. Even above the din of the rest of the party, his voice is low and intimate. Almost a purr. Rey wonders if that’s the wine talking.

(She didn’t have that much)

“I did,” she replies. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. That looked important.”

“I should be thanking you,” he insists. “You just gave me an out from the most boring conversation I’ve had in my life.”

Rey snorts.

“Did you just invite me here so you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone else?” she asks, teasing. She doesn’t expect him to reply so seriously, his gaze almost hypnotic in its ferocity.

“Of course,” he replies. “Why else?”

Rey smacks him lightly on the arm. He coughs, but it might be more of a laugh.

“I’m joking,” he murmurs. “How are you enjoying it so far?”

“I would enjoy it much more if they hurried up and started serving food already.”

“The event hasn’t even started.”

“You said to be here by six!”

He shrugs. “These things always start late.”

“ _Ren._ ”

Both of them turn their heads towards the direction of a woman’s voice. A familiar face approaches, her expression growing smug as she bites out a greeting. When she stands next to them, Rey finds that she really does tower over Kylo—and she’s even taller in her heels. The blonde woman places a hand on her hip, her eyes shifting between the two of them.

Kylo’s lips purse together in distaste.

“I heard you ran away from Zero,” she says smoothly. Kylo scowls.

“I didn’t run away. Our conversation was over.”

“That’s not how you find a new publisher.” She turns away from him and focuses on Rey, scrutinizing her intently. Rey feels incredibly self-conscious with that icy blue stare zeroed in on her, and she hugs herself, gripping the stem of her glass tightly between her fingers.

The blonde woman seems to find something that satisfies her. She offers Rey a hand out to shake and the girl takes it, trying to match the strength of the blonde’s grip with her own. The blonde grins—all pearly white teeth.

“I’m Gwendolyn Phasma,” she says, her accent clipped. “I’m an agent and an editor but I also teach part-time at the university. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“We have.” Rey drops her hand. “I’m Rey Kenobi.”

“Yes, I remember your name.” Phasma slides Kylo a sidelong glance but the man only avoids her gaze. “It’s lovely seeing you here. I can’t believe Ren hasn’t even bothered to introduce you to anyone else yet.”

Rey holds up her hands in front of her.

“Oh, I’m doing fine on my own. He doesn’t have to…”

“He invited you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did…” Rey falters. “I’m fine. I don’t need an _escort_.”

Phasma snorts out a laugh. Kylo’s lips turn down even further, and his frown now looks less menacing and more like a sulk. He adjusts his glasses on his nose.

“If you’re done _interrogating_ her, Phasma,” Kylo starts. He shoots the tall woman a glare. “Don’t you have more important things to do? Other people to terrorize?”

“ _Terrorize?_ ” The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

Rey sighs and scoots between them, blocking them from each other. With her free hand, she reaches up to wrap her arm—with a little difficulty—around Kylo’s broad back. She sets her fingers on his shoulder and squeezes gently, hoping that it will calm him down.

To his credit, he melts into her touch. Phasma’s face lights up with absolute glee.

“It was nice to meet you, Phasma,” Rey says, looking up at her. “Maybe some other time.”

“Some other time,” Phasma hums. She watches Rey and Kylo step aside and leave, the young girl dropping her hand from the man’s shoulder.

Rey downs the rest of her wine and sets her glass on a passing waiter’s tray. Kylo works his jaw, his eyes narrowed behind his lenses.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers. Rey bumps their arms together.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Most of the guests begin to move forward, gathering near the stage in front. Kylo and Rey remain where they are, allowing a sea of people to part away from them. With more breathing room, they finally look up. A woman stands at the very front of the room, a microphone in her hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins, her voice echoing all throughout the room. She gives everyone a momentary glance, accompanying it with a bright red-lipped smile. “Thank you for coming here tonight. This year marks the fifteenth anniversary of our literary award, the prestigious…”

Her voice rings out loud, only slightly echoed by the amplification of her microphone. Rey glances at Kylo, watching him stare out into the crowd. He notices her gaze and so turns his head back towards her. She smiles.

A couple of people pass them. One man roughly shoves Kylo aside as he passes, and the bespectacled man throws them a glare. The guests don’t even bother to look back, but Rey sees them wear a sneer.

 _“Ben Solo,”_ someone whispers, uttering his name with such condescension that even Rey bristles. The man refuses to meet her gaze, so she looks back up at Kylo, wondering how he’s faring.

Strangely enough, he isn’t angry. He glares down at the ground, his nose wrinkled, but even Rey can tell that it’s less fury and more mortification. His shoulders are raised stiffly. He bends down to avoid eye contact, and his hands clench tightly at his sides. He folds into himself, jaw clenched, even when Rey rubs gentle circles into his arm.

She pulls him away from the center. They move towards the side wall and Kylo lets her guide him, lets her tug at his arm. Rey offers everyone she passes a small smile, raising her hand to excuse herself, but she discovers that she doesn’t have to. Everyone that sees them parts to make way even before she has to ask. They all level Kylo with curious stares, and when some of those gazes reach Rey’s face, she violently looks away.

_“It’s him.”_

_“Marketing ploy…”_

_“He actually showed up for once.”_

_“Oh my.”_

_“Who is she?”_

_“She looks so young. Seems like he’s taking after his father.”_

Rey spins around to face Kylo. She flashes him a hundred-watt grin, her eyes searching his. He meets her gaze, and she resists the urge to reach up and tuck away a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Let’s go get a drink,” she says.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

They head towards the refreshments table. Kylo grabs each of them a glass of wine, discreetly giving Rey the one with less contents. If she’s noticed this, she doesn’t comment; she’s too busy taking advantage of the nonexistent line for catering. Rey holds a crumbling Madeleine up to the light, inspecting the grooves on its golden surface before shoving the entire thing into her mouth. Kylo snorts from behind her and she only throws him a grin, uncaring of the fact that she’s still chewing. She picks up two sandwiches with a napkin and then smoothly takes the wineglass from Kylo when he offers it to her.

“Did you have dinner?” he asks.

“Yes, but I was saving room for dessert.”

His eyes glint with fondness. Rey washes down a large bite of her sandwich with the wine.

The speech that they’d only been partially listening to is replaced with an orchestral bang of music. A band near the front begins to play, the melody swelling as the emcee shuffles her cards, thanking sponsors and donors to the event.

Every few minutes there’s the echo of applause.

“Have they even started announcing the winners yet?” Rey asks, mouth still half-full. Kylo leans backwards against the wall, bringing his glass to his lips. He doesn’t even glance towards the stage when he answers her.

“No,” he murmurs. “Just the usual ceremonial bullshit.”

Rey swallows the last bite of her sandwich.

“I don’t know how you handle this every year,” she comments.

“I don’t.”

She raises a brow.

Their voices are lost to another round of applause. A couple rushes past them and everyone looks back to throw the new guests a cheering welcome. Kylo’s lips press together as he leans even more tightly against the wall—as if he’s trying to melt into it.

Perhaps the guests near them have noticed Kylo hunched to the side. A few more curious glances are sent his way, and while many of them ignore him, a lot seem to recognize him as well. A woman in particular leans even closer to the man standing next to her. She raises a manicured hand to cover her face—her diamond bracelet glinting on her wrist—as she whispers into his ear. The man’s eyes grow wide.

At the beginning, barely anyone had paid Rey any attention. Now she comes to realize—her hands still stained with crumbs—that more guests are staring at them than she’d previously noticed. Many of them keep their stares polite and momentary, but a few more can’t stop glancing back at Kylo once they realize who he is.

It’s almost as if the other guests are giving them a wide berth. It’s subtle, but the more she looks around, the more she realizes it. Everyone knows everyone else here; everyone has offered everyone else kisses on the cheek, hugs and greetings, laughter and conversation. The guests all travel around with casual self-importance, with the knowledge that no step will be hindered. They all have _names_ here, names that are listed in magazine articles and newspapers, names that decide just who’s awarding writers like Kylo.

Rey swallows when she feels the back of her neck burning—now their curiosity has been levelled on her.

 _I don’t care what other people think of me_ , she thinks.

And then, distantly, she realizes she hates this place.

“I need some air,” Kylo mutters, voice pinched. “I’ll be back.”

He sets his half-filled wine glass down on an empty table before pushing himself away from the wall. Kylo hunkers away from the crowd, cutting through the ballroom floor. Rey rushes after him, cursing his long legs that give him a faster stride.

“Wait!” she exclaims. He’s almost crossed the room by the time she catches up.

“You should make friends,” he grumbles. Rey realizes that he’s heading for the open balcony on the other end of the room. The doors are thrown open, revealing fragile white curtains that dance in a light evening breeze. “I saw Paige Tico out there too.”

As if given one final burst of energy, Kylo sprints outside towards the balcony. He doesn’t stop until he’s outside, until he’s gone as far away as possible. He leans his tall frame over the stone railings, gripping the banister as he bends over, taking in large gulps of air.

Rey swallows. She places her glass down near a potted plant.

The din from inside filters in softly: only the tail-ends of muffled conversation and applause. The emcee’s voice spreads out in a dull echo, and if Rey concentrates hard enough, she can ignore it.

She approaches slowly. Rey leans against the railings, her arms resting on the stone. She looks out into the distant evening: catches the faint stars in the sky that aren’t polluted by city lights. Below them lies the garden, mostly dark if not for the sparse lamps that are dotted by the concrete pathway. A cool night breeze blows through her hair, and she shivers as the wind caresses the bare skin of her exposed shoulders.

She wraps her arms around herself, thinking that she should have worn a warmer dress.

They stand there in silence as they look out into the night horizon. When Rey spares Kylo a glance, she finds that the color has returned to his face.

“I’m sorry I dragged you here,” he mutters. His voice is whispered low, and he tugs at his necktie. Rey offers a weak smile. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought we’d just gorge ourselves on food and make fun of other people. Enjoy the band. The timing was just—wrong.”

“I’m still glad you invited me.”

“You’d probably have more fun if you went back inside and talked to someone else,” he continues. Rey rolls her eyes.

“You know I didn’t come here just to network for a potential writing career, right?”

 _I came here to be with you_.

Maybe he knows her unspoken words.

He smirks. It’s unexpected.

“Well then, Phasma’s right. I’ve been a terrible escort.”

She smacks him on the arm again. He doesn’t even flinch, but he does chuckle. It’s dark and deep, almost vibrating through the air between them. Rey turns at an angle to face him better.

“I said I didn’t need an escort. I’m doing fine by myself.”

“But you shouldn’t be by yourself. Tonight’s for the both of us—I want to see you happy too.”

His voice is so soft and matter-of-fact that Rey is taken aback. She blinks up at him, silently willing him to gaze down at her with those gentle eyes. Instead, Kylo slouches even further, clasping his hands together as they hang off the balcony.

Neither of them speaks for a while. It seems as if Kylo is gathering himself, mentally preparing his next few words. Rey wishes she could admit that _yes, I’m happy whenever I’m with you_. She wishes that he would look at her again and admit that he feels the same.

As if reading her mind, he finally does look down at her. His voice is small, just light enough that she has to lean in closer to hear it.

“But thank you for coming here tonight, Rey,” he murmurs. “You don’t know how much I needed it.”

“Someone to save you from Phasma?”

“No. Just someone like you.”

She blinks, her mouth caught twisted in a half-smile. Her lips part in a silent question and Kylo hurriedly looks away again, his head drooping so that he’s staring at his hands.  They fidget together, and she notices him pressing his arms together more tightly—tight enough that they’re pulled mere millimetres away from hers.

“You can tell I’m bad at this,” he says instead. “I’m bad at… interacting with other people.”

Rey grins. “Other people are terrible. I think you’re excused.”

He chuckles, his shoulders shaking lightly.

“Being terrible to me, I understand. But they shouldn’t be so terrible to you.” He finally looks at her, those lips twisted into the shadow of a smile. The lamp from another balcony shines upon them, highlighting the planes of Kylo’s face. She stares at him, wide-eyed in wonder, and notes that his eyes flicker down ever so briefly.

But then he looks back up at her eyes, his expression gentle.

She realizes that she’s unwittingly stepped closer.

“Let’s just agree that other people are terrible no matter what,” Rey says. She’s almost proud of herself for the fact that her voice doesn’t shake, even when her heart does a somersault in her chest. It must be the wine, she thinks. The wine, or the cool wind, or the anxiety from this evening…

“Agreed,” Kylo murmurs. His tone is deep and low, oddly intimate, and she shivers involuntarily. He immediately reaches out towards her, his large hand hovering by her bare shoulder.

“You’re cold,” he says, frowning. “Let’s head back inside.”

“I’m not cold,” Rey counters. She can feel the space between his hand and her shoulder burning with a raging fire—the expanse of her bare skin screams for him to touch, to soothe her chill with a warm hand. Kylo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as his fingertips inadvertently move too close and touch the edges of her hair.

He pulls away.

“I keep telling you to dress more warmly,” he insists. His hands fly to the front of his suit jacket, and he frowns as he unbuttons them quickly, not even looking down. Rey shuts her mouth when she realizes what he’s doing. “That’s a ridiculous dress to be wearing in December.”

He removes his jacket, his arms sliding away from the sleeves. Rey doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, when he approaches to drape it over her shoulders. She bites her lip, her heart hammering in her ribcage, when she realizes that he smells good too—and that whatever cologne he’s wearing is smeared all over his jacket.

She carefully tugs on the sides of the vest. It’s too large to be worn properly, so it’s loose over her torso, the sleeves empty and hanging limply at her sides. Kylo closes the top button just so that it won’t slide off her body, and Rey doesn’t even speak, she just _lets_ him. She allows him to move closer, allows him to touch.

His hands are nimble, and the button takes barely thirty seconds to close. The fabric of her dress is thick. Even so, the imprint of his knuckles burn against the skin of her belly.

He pulls away to admire his handiwork. Kylo looks back up, and he looks mildly affronted.

“What?” he asks.

“You don’t like my dress?” Rey asks, teasing. She doesn’t expect Kylo to flounder about, his mouth snapping open and shut like a goldfish as the very edges of his ears turn a tinge pink.

“I never said that.” He swallows, stepping away shyly.

“You called it ridiculous.”

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. “It makes you look beautiful—“

Rey feels a burst of heat flood her cheeks. She grips the fabric of the jacket in her hands, gazing up in wonder as Kylo looks left and right, refusing to meet her eyes. He runs a hand through his already dishevelled hair, and she takes pity on him just a little bit.

“We should go back inside,” he starts. Rey shakes her head.

“I don’t want to go back inside,” she tells him. “I want to stay here with you.”

Kylo finally looks at her. He stares with breathless wonder.

“I don’t want to go back to the party,” Rey continues, growing braver. She stands up straight, her hands falling to her sides. They brush the cuffs of his jacket. “When I’m out there, I’m surrounded by people but I’ve never felt so alone.”

_Except when you’re with…_

Kylo’s eyes are glassy.

“You’re not alone,” he replies. “Rey, you’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” she finishes, her lips quirking up into a smile.

She knows it isn’t the wine that’s getting to her head. Her body is filled with an electric anticipation, a jolt of courage. All of her nerves burn with a single desire, a single _need_ : the need to move forward and just _touch_.

She wants to hold him, wants to press against him, wants to pull him by his collar and…

Rey leans up slightly and rests her hand against Kylo’s chest. She pulls him down with all her might and then surges forward, presses their mouths together in a breathless kiss. It might be painful to catch him unaware, but she finds that it isn’t—in fact it’s pleasant, more pleasant than she could have ever imagined.

His lips are soft against hers. Rey closes her eyes and leans in deeper, hoping to press all of her desire and desperation into his mouth. She senses the exact moment that he melts against her, head tilting to better kiss her back, and she smiles into his embrace.

One of his hands slides around the smallness of her waist. She almost gasps at the feeling, but it isn’t unwanted. Another one of his hands lies gently on her cheek, his thumb warm against her cheekbone, warm against the blood that already burns hotly beneath her skin.

The entire world spins and leaves Rey dizzy on her feet. She grips his shirt collar tighter and then parts her lips for an open-mouthed kiss. On her tongue is the barest hint of a sweet wine, and she whines into his mouth, her fingers sliding against the silk of his shirt.

A burst of cool air hits her. Rey blinks as she feels the coldness of the evening descended upon her once more. She opens her eyes and realizes that Kylo has pulled away, that his hands are now covering his face. He faces away from her, those shoulders trembling minutely, and Rey’s hand slides away from his chest.

He heaves.

“Kylo?” she asks, her voice small. She can’t see his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Rey,” he says. It comes out hoarse and strained, and even through his despair, she feels the impact of his deep voice jolting through her body. He’s never said her name like that before—not in that low growl, that breathless exhale.

He finally drops his hands and looks at her.

“You’ve had too much wine,” he murmurs. “It was inappropriate for me to act that way, and I’m sorry—“

“I _haven’t_ had too much wine,” Rey counters. “I’m completely sober and in my right mind. I can make decisions for myself, all right? So don’t apologize, because I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

She balances on the balls of her feet. It’s true, really. The realization hits her like a pile of bricks. She has wanted to kiss him for the longest, longest time.

She always thought that he felt the same way.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” she continues, lowering her voice. She makes it sound softer, quieter. She steps closer to him, even when he flinches, and offers a tight smile. Kylo’s mouth quivers. “I’ve read your poem. The one about me. It fell out of your notebook once.”

His eyes grow wide.

“What?” he whispers.

“ _Of all my days, you are the brightest hour,_ ” Rey recites. She tugs at the fabric of his jacket, and then she licks her lips. She wants to shake him. “I like you, Kylo. I like you a lot.”

Rey reaches out to hold his hand. She doesn’t grab them, but she does offer. Her fingers shake as they bump against his knuckles. Kylo looks down, his hands twitching. He doesn’t push her aside.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says honestly. “But I do lo—like you too. Even from the beginning, I’ve liked everything about you. You’re amazing, Rey. You’re—“

She goes on her tiptoes to kiss him on the nose. Kylo makes a strangled noise, interrupting himself. She grins at him widely, her cheeks painful with how much she’s been smiling. Kylo huffs and then rubs his face, his skin growing pink again.

“But you know we can’t.” He furrows his brows, his expression growing serious. He lifts his hand to intertwine their fingers together, and Rey is stunned by the warmth of his palms, by the sheer size difference of their hands. The surprise catches her off guard for a moment. “We can’t, Rey.”

His voice is oddly tender.

“I researched the school policy,” she replies, squeezing his hand back. “Finals will be over soon, and then I won’t be your student anymore. It will be okay by then.”

His thumb rubs gentle circles on her palm.

“They won’t look at you the same way when they find out,” he replies. “They’ll assume the worst of you.”

“I don’t care what other people think.”

He smiles at her. It’s soft and small.

“Nobody can find out about this until grades are released,” he murmurs. “Nobody can know that we’ve ever been anything _before_. It’s not safe.”

“You’re so serious,” Rey replies. She wrinkles her nose, but then tugs at his hand playfully. “I’m not that dumb. Don’t worry.”

He swallows.

“You’re amazing, you know? You deserve someone to be proud of,” he only says. Rey shakes her head.

“I’m proud of _you_.”

And then when she rises on her toes to kiss him again, this time he does kiss back.

 

 

They return to the ballroom.

Kylo’s suit jacket is back on his shoulders. Rey hugs herself because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, because she can’t resist the urge to tangle her fingers with Kylo’s. The man guides her forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back, and the touch is intimate but subtle enough to ground her as they rejoin the rest of the party.

Nobody else seems to have noticed that they’ve gone missing. With the wine and food freely flowing, both of them slip around unnoticed, lost to the swing of the music and conversations. When Rey glances towards the front, she notices several men and women holding glass trophies. They shine underneath the fluorescents.

“Oh, we missed it,” she says, with absolutely no regret. Rey leans towards Kylo, about to whisper. He leans down to hear her better. “Did you win anything?”

“Probably not,” he snorts.

“You’re right. If you won something, people would be _swarming_ you right now.”

“I would gladly continue my losing streak if it meant that people would leave me alone.”

Rey laughs. She glances around quickly before tugging on his much larger hand. Kylo stumbles as he follows her.

The music has changed pace; gone is the soaring orchestra of suspense—it’s been replaced by a catchier tune. Rey twirls around on her heels and shakes her bare shoulders, making sure to direct the two of them to a relatively empty spot.

“Now that we finally have enough space, why don’t you join the party and dance with me?” she beckons. Kylo stands still, watching her silently, with a hand in his pocket and a half-smile playing on his lips. His hip is cocked to the side.

“This isn’t that kind of party, Rey.”

Rey sticks out her tongue.

His eyes are trained on nothing else but her.

“And we aren’t those kinds of guests. Come on. Nobody’s looking,” she adds.

Kylo shakes his head but he does step forward. His movements are awkward and stiff, so Rey takes each of his hands in hers and then swings them side to side, manipulating his arms so that she can twirl around. Her voice rings out in laughter—but it’s lost to the rest of the din.

The entire experience is much better now that nobody’s looking at them, Rey realizes. They’re just two unimportant people lost to the fringes of the party. The gossip has moved on, and whoever dawdles in front is much more interesting than the two of them.

Kylo stares at her intently, fondly, without so much as daring to glance away. It makes warmth explode in Rey’s chest, the kind of warmth that makes her head spin and makes her feel simultaneously silly and gorgeous.

_She just wanted to have fun and dance, dammit._

He’s looking at her like she’s the world. But the thing is… Rey realizes this is a familiar expression. He’s been looking at her like that for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> Now that you've read this chapter, check out Ntantzen's [perfect moodboard](https://twitter.com/nancylovesreylo/status/1028086375512342530?s=20) for it! Squee!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finals.

Kylo never told her that their final exam would be two hours of nothing but _essays._

There’s a cramp in her hand and her handwriting has long descended into chicken scratch. None of that matters, of course, because Rey writes with furious determination—pages upon pages of analyses, opinions, her views spewed out in a way that she hopes is presentable. She doesn’t bother looking up—that’s a waste of time—but she can tell that everyone else is having a difficult time.

There’s one question there that makes her pause. No, it doesn’t _stump_ her or anything, but she almost bursts out into laughter.

_Name one poem from this course that you absolutely hate. Discuss its core themes. Tell me why you hate it._

How many poems had she bashed in front of him? How many times did they argue back and forth about lines of Romantic text?

How many times had Rey loudly complained, only for Kylo to watch her fondly and then say how he wished that he could say all of that too?

Rey writes.

 

The bell rings and everyone queues up to stack their papers on the desk in front. Kylo stands behind it, re-arranging the questionnaires as everyone leaves their exam booklets. Rey had sat at the back, so she’s one of the last people to fall in line. She fidgets when she drops her exam in front of him.

At that moment, Kylo looks up. He adjusts his glasses.

She smiles at him.

“Thank you for the semester,” she says simply, unsure of what else to say. Kylo’s eyes soften, and she doesn’t expect his reply to carry as much genuine warmth as it does.

“Thank _you_ ,” he responds. “Have a good winter break, Miss Kenobi.”

Rey swallows down a nervous whisper.

“Um, I wanted to return the book I borrowed,” she adds. The two girls behind her are having a hushed conversation, and for once Kylo doesn’t shush them. He’s just staring at Rey, his hand stilling on the papers. “I didn’t bring it right now, though. Where should I leave it?”

He raises a curious brow.

“You can leave it at my office later today,” he replies, his voice not even trembling in the slightest. “It’s near the English Department.”

“Okay. Thanks, Professor.”

And then she hurriedly bows her head and bolts away, her heart pounding in her chest. She grips the straps of her backpack and tries not to flush, tries not to look as guilty as she feels.

It’s dumb, of course. Nobody else pays their little exchange any attention. The two girls who had been behind her now rush ahead of her, their voices loud and relieved to be done with this class.

Rose had left ahead of her, running to catch another exam. When Rey exits the room she looks around to find the hallway empty. Well, mostly empty.

When the door closes shut behind her, accompanied by a dull creak, Rey realizes that one of her classmates is still standing outside. It’s Blondie. The girl looks up at Rey, her eyes previously focused on her phone. Rey notes that some messaging app is open on her screen.

Rey is about to leave when the girl calls out to her.

“It won’t work, you know,” Blondie says. Rey spins around to face her, a question on her lips. “Although it’s not like you need it. You’re doing well in his class anyway.”

“What?” Rey asks, genuinely confused. The blonde girl rolls her eyes.

“Being all shy and cute. Being flirty.” She huffs. “No amount of convincing can get you an A.”

Rey shuts her mouth and swallows, her brows furrowing in displeasure. “I’m not _flirting_ to get an A,” she says.

“Yeah, right. Hey, I don’t care. _I’ve_ tried. I’m just saying.” She holds up a hand. “You’re being super obvious.”

Rey’s jaw drops.

“It’s just an elective,” Blondie continues, raising her chin. “I don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously.”

Rey doesn’t know how to reply. The blonde girl gives her one final look before she walks away, her phone still in her hand. Rey scowls at her back—those sashaying hips, the purse in the crook of her arm, her long hair falling against her pristine white jacket.

Her cheeks are still burning with heat, but she’s glad that she’ll never have to see that girl ever again.

 

 

_ME: Are you in your office right now?_

_KR: Yes, I am._

Rey pushes the door open without hesitation. She’s got his black book pressed to her chest, and when she steps into the doorway, Kylo looks up at her from his place next to the left shelf. He’s in the middle of pushing a book back into its slot, his long fingers pressed against the book’s spine.

They both freeze for a moment. Rey shuts the door behind her, making sure that she hears it click close.

Kylo pushes the book back in completely. He glances away from her for a moment, focused on the shelf.

“I know I said that you should return it at the end of the semester,” he begins, still not looking at her. Rey drops the book on his desk, not even sparing it a second glance. She hears it clatter on a mess of papers. “But if you want, you can keep it—“

Rey drops her bag onto the floor and then rounds the table, her footsteps swift and wide. Kylo turns to face her and she takes that moment to tug him down by the back of his neck and press their mouths together in a hard kiss.

Barely a second passes before he leans down, body crumpling to more easily swallow her mouth whole. Rey relaxes her grip on his neck and then shuts her eyes tightly, carried away by his warmth, by the softness of his lips against hers. She doesn’t know how much time passes between them, but Kylo slides a large hand around her back. It’s dizzying.

She feels a twinge of disappointment when he finally pulls away. He’s still standing incredibly close, and he rubs his thumb gently against the side of her mouth, as if wiping something away. Rey grips his shirt because she feels like her knees have gone weak.

“What’s up with you today?” he asks gently, that voice rumbling close to her ear. Rey bites her lip.

“I’m stressed. _Really_ stressed.” She swallows upon realizing that he’s been rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. “I shouldn’t have done that out of the blue. I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his grip loosening as she steps backwards. His voice comes out breathless, and that noise makes Rey’s heart flip inside of her chest. She glances up at him and can’t help but gape. There’s a pink flush that settles high on his cheekbones. He smiles with reddened lips. “I can tell. You should get some rest.”

Rey takes another step backwards until she’s an arm’s length away. _Her_ arm’s length, of course; not his. He could still wrap his arms around her with ease, could still pull her back against his chest if he wanted to. Rey licks her lips and nods.

He opens his mouth and leans forward slightly. Whether he’s about to whisper something or kiss her again or both, Rey can’t tell. At that moment, a knock sounds at the door and they both jump apart. Rey scrambles away from him, not pausing until they have the entire room between them. Kylo wipes his mouth with his hand, and he clears his throat as a young man’s voice comes from outside.

“Professor Ren?” someone asks. “I have a question about my paper…”

“Just a minute,” Kylo projects his voice but it ends up being too loud. Rey picks up her backpack and walks backwards. They make eye contact, an unvoiced fear between them.

“Thanks for answering my questions, Professor,” Rey says, raising her voice a little. Her words don’t tremble, but they do rise in pitch. She swallows. “I guess I won’t change that part of my paper anymore.”

Kylo grips the edge of his desk and nods stiffly, as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He must’ve been caught off-guard by her statement.

Rey gives a thin-lipped smile.

She turns the knob and then pulls the door open. A vaguely familiar face greets her—it’s a tall boy who sits near the front of the class. They’ve never spoken before. There’s a moment of awkward eye contact, but he steps aside to let her pass and doesn’t say anything. She brushes him aside and hears him enter the room.

Kylo’s voice filters out through a crack in the doorway. The door falls shut out of its own accord, cutting off any other noises that come from the room.

Her heart continues to pound.

 

 

They don’t see each other much that week, and Rey is torn between relief and despair.

She doesn’t know how she’ll act when she sees him again. There is so much that she wants, so much that she aches for. She wants to touch him, wants to interlace her slender fingers with his larger ones. She wants to kiss him senseless, wants to shut him up with her mouth when he says something particularly infuriating—like when he teases her, or insults her favorite genre of movies, or does that adorable little scowl.

They still talk, mainly through the phone, and that’s how Rey figures out that not much has changed between them.

She yawns mid-sentence, and Kylo’s voice grows hushed.

“You should go to bed,” he says gently. “It’s late.”

“All right, all right,” she murmurs, agreeing. Rey rubs her eyes and reaches for her bedside lamp. She’s already in bed anyway. “Ugh, I still have a practical tomorrow.”

“You’ll do great. Just get some rest.”

Rey snorts. “Says the workaholic who doesn’t sleep.”

“But I don’t have to get up early tomorrow,” he replies, voice smug. Of course he doesn’t deny that he’s a workaholic. Rey rolls her eyes. She’s having enough trouble keeping them open.

“All right, fine. You’re suffering less. I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, Rey.”

“Goodnight.”

_Love you—_

She hangs up, drops her phone onto her bedside table, and then buries her face into her pillow with a groan.

 

 

Her manager lets her off early from her last shift of the semester. Rey exits the café with a skip in her step and a bright grin on her face. The sun is still bright outside, and it’s warm enough to match her mood. With her last exam this morning, she’s finally _free_.

She’s barely taken five steps away from the exit when her phone buzzes inside of her pocket. Rey quickly fishes it out, assuming that it’s Kylo. She’s already smiling—

Only that the number is unfamiliar. It isn’t Kylo Ren. It’s not even Finn (who’s sitting through an exam right now) or Rose (who’s probably snoozing after another all nighter) or Poe (who seemed ready to jet off for a vacation already).

_Good afternoon, Miss Rey Kenobi. This is Amilyn Holdo, the Dean of Academic Affairs. I would like to discuss your current academic performance so far, as we are currently studying your appeal for a larger scholarship. The grant you applied for is a rare case, so I wanted to interview you and oversee this personally._

_I understand that finals are over for you. Are you available at 5 PM today? Please get back to me as soon as you can._

She freezes on the sidewalk.

_Amilyn Holdo? Dean of Academic Affairs?_

Rey knows that she _should_ be excited. Being interviewed means that they’re more than half-considering her already, right? She’s been struggling to keep her almost perfect 4.0 GPA average afloat, and she’s sure that they know that.

The first time she had applied, she was afraid that she wouldn’t get it. To her pleasant surprise, the administration at Coruscant University was kind and understood her situation perfectly. Even now, she wants to give this Holdo the benefit of the doubt—of course she’d want to meet Rey, considering how much money they’re giving away.

And Rey is going to prove that she’s worth it.

This scholarship would mean that she’d be able to drop the extra shifts as well. Drop the shifts and focus on studying… she likes that idea a lot.

Rey replies immediately. Five o’clock is barely three hours away.

 

“Miss Kenobi?”

“Yes?” Rey stands up upon hearing her name. She’s been sitting in front of the dean’s office for the past half-hour now, overwhelmed by the sheer silence. This corridor is empty, and she had felt so small and so alone at being its only occupant.

“Miss Holdo can see you now,” the secretary says. She nods her head and gestures towards the door. Rey takes in a deep breath before swinging it open and stepping inside, trying not to let the knob slip from her grip.

She’s nervous, all right.

The door closes behind her with a gentle creak. Rey turns her head and finds the woman herself sitting behind a desk. Amilyn Holdo, Dean of Student Affairs, sits in the middle of the room with her hands folded on the table’s surface. Her posture is perfectly straight, and her red lips curve up into a gentle smile. She tilts her head to the side.

“Good afternoon, Rey,” she says. “Take a seat.”

Rey carefully slides into the chair opposite hers. This office is large but cozy, with all of her furniture matching—dark wood, elegant furnishing. The room is organized and sleek, sophisticated. Rey finds that it’s a far cry from Kylo’s office—that one is much more personal. Much more packed with obscure books and random mugs of coffee.

She realizes that she’s been staring. Rey clears her throat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Holdo. Thank you for having me.”

Holdo smiles again before opening up a folder on her desk. Rey glances down at it and realizes that it’s a collection of her records, all of her grades so far. The woman flips through the pages and the noise of paper fills the room—accompanied only by Rey’s swallow.

“So, Rey,” Holdo begins. “You’re an honors student. Engineering is a difficult course, but you’re always on top of things. How do you like it so far?”

She looks up to meet Rey’s eyes. Rey brightens up.

“I love it!” she says. “I’m learning so much. I mean, yes, the theory is tough, but there’s nothing I love more than being able to see the practical results. I’ve always loved working with my hands. The labs are amazing too. I’ve never had the opportunity to work with top-of-the-line tools or with amazing teachers before. It really opened my eyes.”

She’s practically vibrating in her seat as she spews out her lines.

Holdo is smiling, amused.

“And you’re feeling at home in this university?” the woman asks. Rey nods.

“Yes, I am.”

“You haven’t had trouble adjusting?”

“No. I’ve had lots of help from some really good friends.”

“That’s good to hear.” Holdo’s eyes skim the paper in front of her. “Are you planning on taking a minor?”

“Probably not.”

“It could be in a completely different field. Literature, perhaps?”

Holdo raises her gaze slyly, meeting Rey’s eyes upon offering her suggestion. Rey tightens her jaw and re-arranges her lips into a polite smile.

“No, I don’t think so.” And after a second thought, Rey adds, “I’m an engineer. I’ve only had basic lit classes.”

“And one tough elective that you’re acing.”

Rey shrugs one shoulder. She presses her lips tightly together, trying to keep all emotion away from her face.

“I asked all of your current professors for a copy of your grades so far. You’re doing well, which is expected. Mr. Ren doesn’t usually give students such high marks, especially if they don’t have a Literature background. From what I gleaned from my short conversation with him, he seems to be really impressed by your performance. I’m sure he would help sponsor you for a minor, if you really wanted one.”

As Holdo speaks, Rey shyly refuses to meet her gaze. Hearing Kylo’s name makes her heart race—not with butterflies, but with fear. She swallows a lump in her throat, hyperaware of the woman’s gaze on her face. When she finishes speaking, Rey finally looks up.

“I like literature,” Rey admits. “Professor Ren’s class taught me a lot about myself that I never knew before. But I don’t want to pursue Literature academically, and I’d rather focus on my major right now.”

Holdo’s smile is sweet.

“Oh, really? I was convinced that you wanted to pursue it.”

“Not academically,” Rey repeats.

_Please don’t accidentally imply that you’re pursuing other things_ , Rey tells herself mentally.

"It’s always good to have one foot in the field,” Holdo presses. “Keep your options open. It’s tough to study alone.”

“It’s okay,” Rey says. “I have friends who can help me with it.”

Holdo blinks, but Rey doesn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes zero in on her like a hawk. Rey feels as if she’s being scrutinized intently, as if one wrong move will reveal _everything_.

The dean pressing her over a _Literature minor_ doesn’t make sense. She’s clearly digging for something, prodding Rey with all kinds of questions to find whatever it is she’s seeking.

Rey’s heart pounds in her chest. She grips her hands into fists on her lap.

“Paige Tico; she’s a Lit major,” Rey explains. “She’s a good friend and a co-worker at Scavengers. She already started her internship at a publishing house, so she tells me all about it.”

“I see. That’s very kind of her.”

“It is.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. Rey only looks onwards politely, waiting as Holdo notes something down and then continues to flip through the files in her hands. The woman is elegantly perched on her chair, not even a single hair out of place. In contrast, Rey feels like she’s just run a marathon.

“Well, your scholarship has been pretty much approved already. You just need to fill in some more paperwork.” Holdo passes a blank form over the desk. She offers a friendly smile. “Give them to my secretary by next week. Have a good winter break, Rey.”

Rey’s hands don’t even shake when she takes the forms.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She stands up to leave, instantly relieved when Holdo looks away.

 

 

Rey waits until she’s back home and alone at the apartment before she even brings out her phone.

The dial tone rings steadily against her ear. Rey paces around her room, the hem of her hoodie fisted in her other hand. She scuffs her socked feet against the wooden floorboards, and stares intently at them for want of something else to do.

Maybe it’s the added stress of finals and work and Holdo’s semi-interrogation. There’s the threat of wetness behind her eyelids and something heavy stuck in her throat. She’s afraid that if it spills out, it will never stop.

She wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and be surrounded by warmth.

But not by pillows and blankets. Not by her favorite sweaters.

“Rey?”

His voice crackles through the line. Rey opens her mouth, and all of the words she was rushing to say suddenly vaporize into thin air.

She thinks that she’s going to cry, but she releases her voice—and discovers that it’s the complete opposite.

She laughs, loud and indelicate, encouraged even more by the noise of Kylo spluttering on the other end. He seems panicked and won’t stop asking if she’s all right and completely sober. Instead of answering him directly, Rey giggles even harder.

It’s only after an entire minute has passed that she can finally speak.

“It’s almost over,” Rey hiccups. She’s grinning with relief, even as she struggles to catch her breath. She presses a hand over her own mouth. “It’s almost over.”

“I know,” Kylo replies silently. Solemnly. “Just a little bit more.”

“I know I can’t see you today,” Rey murmurs. She slowly makes her way to bed, the mattress creaking underneath her knees. She slides underneath the covers and takes in a deep breath. It smells like fresh laundry. Clean sheets. “So can you stay on the phone a little longer? Please?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Rey presses her other cheek against a pillow. Kylo’s breaths are soft on the other end, accompanied by the white noise of pages turning and a pen skimming over paper. She closes her eyes and imagines being beside him, curled up on his old couch with a cup of tea and a good book. Maybe wrapped up in one of his large sweaters, the fabric drowning her slender frame, coating her in a familiar scent.

Cocooned in warmth, Rey’s breaths even out until she drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reylocalligraphy made a [sweet little moodboard](https://reylocalligraphy.tumblr.com/post/177026942918/moodboard-for-the-brightest-hour-by-holyrenperor) for this fic! Thank you so much, Catey <3 I love the vibe.
> 
> She also taught me how to embed it into the fic, yay! (@ Everyone else who has made/wants to make a moodboard, feel free to send me an embed link as well :D)
> 
> And announcement time: this fic will go on another hiatus, though this time I don't know how long it will take. Ch22 is complete but Ch21 is not. With IRL stuff I'm not sure when I can finish it. I'm also working on a little surprise... based on a few readers' requests ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Announcing your place in the family of things.

After the true, final day of the semester, Rey gets a simple text.

_KR: Let’s get out of here._

Her lips curl up into a smile.

He beat her to it.

 

 

The air is crisp and cool. Her lungs are filled with December air—fresh and icy, just the barest taste of winter chill. The skyscrapers have long disappeared from the horizon, leaving them with nothing but low buildings and white clouds. Rey’s hands are cold, but they’re simultaneously dwarfed and warmed in Kylo’s own.

“It’s over there,” Kylo says. His voice is deep and carried by the wind. He looks down at her, as if to confirm that she heard him. Rey offers a small smile.

“Come on,” she says, tugging him along. “What are you waiting for?”

She sprints forward in excitement. This is a new place, a foreign place. Each step is unfamiliar, and every inch of scenery is fresh to her eyes. They pass an old woman, a young couple, a teenage boy. None of them spare Rey and Kylo a glance, and none of them know who they _truly_ are.

It’s freeing, Rey thinks, to finally be herself with him—and have people look but not care.

Not mind.

The edge of the town slopes upwards to merge with the foot of a mountain. The trek is short but steep, and Rey feels her legs start to burn as she rushes forward two steps at a time. The stone underneath their feet is stable, and Rey keeps a careful hand on the piped railing, her palms skimming the metal surface. Her body is warmed by the exertion.

Kylo follows dutifully behind her. The path is too narrow for the two of them to stand side by side. When Rey looks to the left, she sees the tops of buildings peeking out through holes in the greenery, through partitions in the shrubs growing along their path. The noise of the town fades into the background, leaving them with nothing but the distant cry of birds and their own footsteps.

Neither of them says anything. They don’t stop.

Rey was never a city girl. Her hometown, Jakku, was a dead end, a desert where dreams came to die and rust in the blistering sun. Even now, she feels that the vastness and excitement of Coruscant is both its strength and its weakness—sometimes she can’t help but want to be as far away from it as possible.

This place is beautiful. Rey revels in the fresh mountain air, in the song of birds. A breeze whips her hair around, but she can only grin. Beyond them stretches an endless blue horizon, a sky tinted with December frost. Kylo is warm and steady behind her, a silent guard, and she looks back at him as if to ask _are you seeing this?_

For once, he isn’t looking at her. Rey pauses mid-step. Kylo is turned away to the cliffside, his gaze lost in the mountain view. He isn’t smiling, but his face is relaxed. Serene.

If this scene were a painting, Rey thinks, then he would fit in it perfectly. There’s a joke there on the tip of her tongue—something about nineteenth century classics and Lord Byron and long walks on the moor. Instead, she swallows down the grin, keeping the joke to herself.

They continue hiking in silence. The path is empty save for the two of them, and Rey appreciates the relative solitude. Her fingers caress tall blades of grass, the puffy heads of dandelions. Nature sings back.

When they finally reach the top—or at least, a good distance above—Rey finally turns towards the cliffside again and takes a deep breath. She reaches out blindly and Kylo catches her hand, his palm coarse against hers.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but Rey thinks that a touch is worth much more.

She grips his hand.

Rey leans against the railing and goes up on her tiptoes to get a better look. She feels Kylo’s grip on her hand tighten, and her lips curve up into a smile at his concern. She squeezes back to reassure him—a silent message. _I won’t fall off, I promise._

Beyond the green shrubbery growing at the edge of the mountain, she can see out into the distance. The town below is small and inconsequential; buildings dotting the basin of the valley, a thousand little lives and houses lined up in neat little rows like that of a model city. Like a mock-up or a child’s toy made out of paper and cardboard, only that electric lights blink on and off to signify that they are real.

And even further: the verdant green of the mountain’s other side, the shape of the mountain drawn against the pale blue sky—all of those curves make it look like a human being lying on their back, Rey thinks.

“Now I know why poets wrote about this,” she says.

Kylo snorts out a laugh. He steps forward until he’s beside her. The railing reaches her ribcage but it presses firmly against his stomach. His curls fly in the wind.

“Not just poets,” Kylo murmurs. “Bards. Songwriters. Painters.”

He folds his arms on top of the railing.

“In all the millennia of human existence,” he says. “This is the constant. The one thing that we are in awe of, that we can only _attempt_ to recreate—the sublime.”

Rey presses their elbows together. He’s using his teacher voice again.

“Okay,” she says. “You’ve proved your point. _This_ is why they call it the sublime.”

He looks away from the view and at her face. He meets her eyes. Rey holds her breath, waiting for him to speak. His lips are soft.

“But it can’t be the sublime if there’s no one to see it,” he whispers. “Going up here wouldn’t have been as worth it if I were alone.”

His eyes are so open, so honest. His voice is subdued. Rey shakes her head, finding that the words refuse to come out of her mouth. She smiles, still shaking her head, even as the wetness crawls up the back of her throat.

She can’t help it.

She huffs and buries her face into his shoulder. Kylo runs a hand through her hair, his fingers trembling as if she’s delicate. As if she’s precious.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Rey asks, her voice muffled against his sleeve.

“Doing what?”

She shuts her eyes tight for a single moment. Rey doesn’t reply, not even when she feels him wrap an arm around her.

So this is what it feels like, she thinks.

This is what it feels like to be wanted.

 

Later that day, they decide to take a break.

“Who eats ice cream in December?” Kylo grumbles.

“ _I_ do!” Rey exclaims. “Come on. Live a little.”

He’s frowning even as he stands in line, his wallet already in his hand. Rey grins up at him as he scrunches up his nose, lips turned down into a frown. The ice cream parlor is bright and cheery, painted in shades of red, white, and pastel pink. Even the floors are checkered black and white. The faux 50s diner style is a little cheesy, but Rey thinks it’s cute.

Besides, it makes Kylo Ren—a sulking giant dressed head to toe in black—stick out like a sore thumb. Or like a grumpy cat.

Rey slips her arm into his.

“I’m getting all the toppings,” Rey declares. Kylo shakes his head, but she can see the faint outline of a smile on his face.

“Of course you will.”

The line is relatively short. Rey fills her cup to the brim with, well, everything. Fruit loops, oreo dust, chocolate syrup, crushed almonds, dried peaches, an extra scoop of vanilla—

She sticks her tongue out at Kylo when he only stares at her, looking increasingly concerned at her serving; it’s teetering to the side with its weight. And of course he’s chosen something sensible, Rey thinks. Sensible and healthy with fruit? Really?

As they walk away from the counter, Rey shoves a spoonful into her mouth. Her eyes light up in surprise. She lets out a loud squeal of delight.

“This is _good_!”

“You’re getting ice cream all over your face.”

Rey huffs at him, her cheeks full and blown out like a chipmunk’s. He offers her a tissue and she takes it, wipes at the corners of her mouth. Kylo’s other hand settles on the smallness of her back, and she presses against his touch, accepting the silent apology.

They walk down the rest of the street, their voices carried by the wind.

 

 

The sun threatens to set despite the early hour. The two of them head towards the other end of town, the one near the major train stop. It’s a sleepy afternoon, so they can walk leisurely—hand in hand, no rush, no other company to disturb them.

It’s a surprise when a yell cuts through the air.

“Excuse me, sir! Um, Kylo Ren?”

It’s a high-pitched boy’s voice, almost breathless.

Kylo freezes in place. Rey senses that he’s deciding whether or not he should bolt, so she squeezes his hand in reassurance. The voice has come from behind them, so Rey turns towards the source first, intently curious.

A teenage boy stands behind them. He rests his palms on his knees, subtly panting as he catches his breath. His dark hair is a mess of curls, windswept and uncombed, and as soon as Kylo turns his large frame towards him Rey sees the boy’s eyes grow wide. His mouth falls open and he stutters, tongue twisting in his mouth.

Rey has to hide her laugh.

“I’m sorry!” he says, voice almost cracking. Kylo raises a brow, now comforted by what seems like a harmless kid. “It’s just that, uh, I recognized you and at first I couldn’t believe it because what would _the_ Kylo Ren be doing _here_? And I didn’t want to bother both of you but I knew this was a once in a lifetime—“

Kylo tilts his head to the side. The boy shuts his mouth and instantly flushes red. He pulls a dark book out of his satchel and then shoves it in front of his face.

“I’m a big fan of your work, sir!” the boy exclaims. Kylo’s shoulders fall, and he takes a step forward, dropping Rey’s hand. Rey doesn’t recognize the old book’s worn cover, but she can see Kylo’s name printed on the front. “You’re my favorite poet ever. Can I—Can I please have an autograph? And a picture?”

Kylo is silent as he approaches. The height difference between the two of them is comically large—but Kylo is gentle, nonthreatening. He looks down at the book with a curious gaze, his lips pressed together in thought. The boy hands it to him quietly, digging out a pen from his satchel.

“Thank you,” Kylo answers simply. He stares at the book in awe. “How did you recognize me?”

The boy perks up. He’s still staring at Kylo with wide, awe-struck eyes. “I saw your picture in an article once.”

“Did you?”

He nods.

“This is one of my oldest collections,” Kylo hums. He flips it open to a dog-eared page. Rey can see his lips relaxing into a smile. “It’s very... tortured. I can’t believe you like it. They don’t print these anymore.”

The boy huffs up, his shoulders rising. He stares at Kylo earnestly, his own eyes solemn despite his youth.

“There’s nothing wrong with being tortured!” he exclaims. He takes in a deep breath, as if waiting for Kylo to interrupt. When the older man doesn’t, the kid continues on.

“This is the book that made me realize I loved poetry,” he says. “I... Your writing makes me feel less alone. Sometimes, when I’m really sad, I get comforted because I know someone out there feels the same way—and that they’ve expressed it in the right words.” He glances down at the ground, his cheeks darkening. “I’ve always wanted to tell you this. We’ve never met before but thank you, Mr. Ren. Thank you for writing.”

He bows his head, eyes shut to hide his mortification. Kylo stands stock-still, the book and the pen in his hands, as he blinks at the young boy in front of him. The man’s eyes are wide behind his glasses—almost trembling, hazel in the sunlight.

“Oh,” he says. It’s whispered out, as if it had escaped unbidden.

Eventually, he finds his voice.

“Thank you,” Kylo says, voice hoarse and wet. “Thank you. I’m so glad.” He clears his throat. “What’s your name?”

The boy grins at him with white teeth.

“Jason Paters.”

Kylo nods. He flips the book to the first page and then signs a message. “For you, Jason.”

The kid practically bounces on his feet as he thanks Kylo over and over again. The older man hands his book and pen back, and Jason digs his phone out of his back pocket. He goes up on his tiptoes right as Kylo crouches down just for both of their faces to be in the same frame. Kylo offers an awkward smile: just the twitch of his lips and the creases at his eyes. The boy grins, wild and carefree, his expression brighter than the sun.

Finally, he looks out to Rey and bows his head.

“Thank you so, so much,” he blurts out. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your date—um, you just _made my day!_ ”

Now it’s Rey’s turn to blush pink. The boy hugs the book to his chest while showering both of them in praise. She finds herself frozen to the spot, even as she watches the kid say goodbye and leave. He disappears down the road and into another alley, his satchel swinging behind him.

_Their date._ She supposes there’s no hiding it now.

Rey snaps back to reality when she feels Kylo slip his hand back into hers. She looks up at him.

He’s staring at her with a fond expression, with an amused quirk of the brow.

“I can’t believe you have _fanboys,_ ” Rey murmurs. She bursts into laughter. Kylo pouts, and his plush lips combined with his sagging shoulders make him look like a beaten puppy. She wants to press her fingers against his mouth.

“Mmph.”

“I think he had a little crush on you.”

Kylo wraps an arm around her waist. She’s still grinning, and he moves to kiss it off her face.

“Don’t worry. Nobody can compete with you.”

Rey scoffs. Her hand comes up to rest on his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she clenches her hand into the fabric of his shirt. It wrinkles beneath her fingers, but neither of them notices; Kylo is too busy pressing his nose into her hair. Rey tugs him along.

“That’s not what I meant, but okay.”

Kylo laughs. It’s loud and boisterous. It fills her body with warmth. Rey pretends to look upset, but she can’t resist the amusement that flashes on her face.

“Good. Please don’t ever question how much you mean to me—whether or not you liked my writing.”

It’s low and whispered. She wouldn’t have caught it if his lips weren’t so close to her ear. It feels like a statement more than anything else—a quiet confession tossed out into open air. Somehow, no other reply feels right.

Rey swallows. Instead of responding directly, she squeezes his arm.

“Let’s go?”

A nod.

 

The train cart is nearly empty.

It’s a local train, slow and swaying, barely populated at the strange hour. Rey rests her chin on the seat’s backrest and then watches the scenery pass by; watches the sea of green and yellow and orange, the small cottages dotting the fields, the side of the mountain as it falls and meets the valley. The small town falls away in a blur, and she thinks she misses it even as the stretches of the city finally come into view.

Home. Coruscant City. Back to the world that knows them.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that.

The sun burns orange. Rey turns her head and catches Kylo staring at a spot in thin air, his gaze listless in thought. She scoots over towards him. He doesn’t seem to register her presence.

“What is it?” she asks. She bumps her shoulder against his. His eyes focus again, but he doesn’t look at her.

“I was just thinking,” he murmurs, voice quiet. “When we get back home...”

_We._

He swallows visibly. “I think I’m finally going to call my mother.”

Rey’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” she says. She rests her hand on his large shoulder. She rubs his back just because she can. He’s coiled tightly again, tighter than a spring, but as soon as her fingers come into contact with his body—even through the fabric of his jacket—he breathes. Relaxes. “That’s good.”

And because there’s nothing else that needs to be said, Kylo bends his neck until his head is resting on top of hers. He leans against her, body falling like a ragdoll. He’s heavier than a bag of rocks. Rey snorts but she doesn’t push him away. The weight of him makes her feel safe.

They don’t say anything else the rest of the way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You do not have to be good._  
>  _You do not have to walk on your knees_  
>  _for a hundred miles through the desert repenting._  
>  _You only have to let the soft animal of your body_  
>  _love what it loves._  
>  _Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine._  
>  _Meanwhile the world goes on._  
>  _Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain_  
>  _are moving across the landscapes,_  
>  _over the prairies and the deep trees,_  
>  _the mountains and the rivers._  
>  _Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,_  
>  _are heading home again._  
>  _Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,_  
>  _the world offers itself to your imagination,_  
>  _calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -_  
>  _over and over announcing your place_  
>  _in the family of things."_  
>  -[Wild Geese, Mary Oliver](http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html)
> 
> A short but necessary chapter. Thank you for your patience! There's only one more left :) And to all my new readers, hello, you're lucky you've arrived at the right time.
> 
> I've been unable to write the poetry smut, but I hope that you guys enjoy whatever (nsfw or sfw) reylo fics I publish next!


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They await the future.

Rey wakes to the sun in her face and warmth pressed against her back.

The curtains have been drawn open, allowing the light to filter in more freely. She squints her eyes at the burst of brightness; it’s never this strong in her own bedroom in the mornings. If she concentrates hard enough, she can hear the faint noise of birds chirping outside. Someone walking their dog. Soft breaths near her ear.

She carefully turns to face the other side of the bed, making sure not to dislodge the arm wrapped loosely over her torso.

Half of Kylo’s face is pressed into his pillow. Most of the other half is covered by the mess of his dark hair; it’s splayed over his ear and cheeks. Rey glances up at the clock on the far end of the room. She prods his hip with her knee. He doesn’t even twitch.

“Kylo,” she murmurs, grinning even when he ignores her. “Get up. It’s seven.”

His eyes remain tightly shut.

“I know you’re awake.” She considers tracing the edge of his hipbone—that always works, and she’s sorely tempted to. But she also knows they don’t have much time. “I have to get up.”

He frowns, eyes still closed.

“Isn’t graduation tomorrow?” he grumbles, voice heavy with sleep. It croaks slightly.

“I still have things to do. And _you_ have work.”

He groans and then flops onto his back, his arms falling to the mattress and away from Rey’s body. She misses the weight of him instantly, but she doesn’t say anything. He sighs deeply, eyes fluttering open and glaring at the ceiling. He scowls.

“I should’ve closed the curtains.”

“You forgot to set an alarm.”

“I was distracted.”

Rey laughs.

“I hate mornings,” Kylo grumbles, even when he turns his head to look at her. Rey hums in thought, gets up on her elbows, and then shuffles towards him. He only lies still, staring up at her with unguarded curiosity and fondness. He doesn’t move even when she swings her leg over his torso and takes a seat right there.

Rey stares down at him, smirking. His hands hover a few inches in the air, and she wonders if he’ll touch her, if he’ll set his hands down on her arms or on her waist. He does neither.

That’s disappointing, she thinks. He deserves to be punished for it.

“That’s why everyone in your morning class hates you,” Rey tells him petulantly.

“Good, the feeling’s mutual.”

Rey snorts. She sets her hands down onto the mattress.

“Are you awake now?” she asks. “I want breakfast.”

“I’d cook for you, but I can’t see anything.”

Rey raises a brow.

“But you’re still the most beautiful blob I’ve ever seen,” Kylo says seriously, squinting his eyes up at her. Rey can’t help but laugh again. He grins back, and his hands rest on hers. He rubs her wrists gently, those large fingers warm on her skin. She melts against the touch.

“I can solve that,” Rey says. She leans to the side and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table. Kylo watches her silently, his dark eyes blinking away the remnants of sleep. Rey carefully sets his spectacles on his nose, and waits as he lifts his head so she can adjust them better.

He blinks, reaches up with one hand to fix their position behind his ears, and then stares at her again, pupils blown.

“Now you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Rey kisses him on the nose.

“Good morning to you too. Now, bacon and eggs?”

He nods, and she slides off the bed.

 

 

Rey pops into the nearest bookstore before she goes out for lunch.

The scent of spring is still on her heels as the door closes behind her. The store is quiet and cozy, well-lit but mostly empty. She unwraps the light scarf from her neck and then peeks around the shelves, eyes scanning the room for the book she’s looking for.

She finds it on the other end of the store. Rey’s sneakers make no noise as she crosses the floor, zeroed in on the new releases. There, perched on a bookstand, is a small, cream-colored book. Several plastic wrapped copies of it lie in a neat pile. She picks up the unwrapped copy carefully, weighing it in her hands.

Right on the cover, several words in plain black text are written:

_A Collision of Stars: A Poetry Anthology_

_By Kylo Ren_

She opens the book to its first page.

_To R, my muse who burns brighter than the sun_

_Thank you._

Rey traces her fingers over the dedication. Her movements are practiced and familiar; she remembers doing the same thing once upon a time, years ago.

And just like before, a smile makes its way onto her face and warms her chest.

She marvels at the rest of the book. She’s seen most of the poems inside, but never in their final forms—never printed out neatly on crisp paper. Rey flips through the book idly, her eyes lighting up in delight as she takes in the clean lines and familiar words. A few in particular make her cheeks grow warm—so he _really did_ write that about her—and a few make her want to run home and tease him about it.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

_Kylo: Where are you?_

_Me: I’m in the bookstore beside the cantina_

It must be a few minutes later that she hears the sound of the door opening. Rey doesn’t look up—she’s still engrossed in a poem—but she does straighten her back when she sees her vision clouded by a dark figure. A large hand settles on the small of her back.

“You’re reading that already?” Kylo asks, amused. Rey looks up at him, but she can see that the edges of his ears are tinged pink. He’s embarrassed.

She smiles and sets the book down.

“You never said you were dedicating it to me,” she whispers. Rey reaches out to rest her hand on his side, a small but comforting gesture—she squeezes his blazer tightly. He looks down at her, his lips parted in a breathless answer.

“I couldn’t have written it without you,” he says simply.

Rey smiles and nudges his arm. “Do you think it’ll top the New York bestselling list this week?”

“That’s impossible.”

“I think it will.”

She can’t stop grinning at him. Kylo towers over her, and he blinks slowly—those dark eyes mesmerizing behind his glasses. He stares at her quietly, as if calculating his next move. Rey is about to ask him a question, but he pushes her behind a nearby shelf and then crowds against her, his hand still on her back.

When Rey opens her mouth to speak, Kylo bends down to press a quick kiss to her lips.

For a moment, the entire world disappears. Rey is left with nothing but the feeling of him: his scent, his hair tickling the edge of her jaw, his hand on her back, his warmth, his lips.

And then he pulls away, and Rey laughs at his sparkling eyes.

“What was that for?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“I just had to. I couldn’t help myself.” He steps away. “Thank you.”

“For complimenting your book?” she teases, her brow raised.

“No, just, for everything.”

He does this sometimes. Looks at her as if she’s made a miracle even though she’s done nothing at all.

It’s times like this that Rey knows there is _one_ thing she wants to do.

She reaches out for his hand and squeezes it gently.

“I love you too,” she tells him. “Sorry I made you wait; I didn’t realize that took so long.”

Kylo wraps his fingers around hers. They exit the shelves and head out to the main aisles, towards the exit.

“It’s fine. My mom called; she wants us over for dinner tomorrow night.”

“That sounds great!”

“She’ll want to hear about your novel.”

Rey huffs. She scoots closer towards him. Their footsteps ring out in unison.

“It’s not even finished yet.”

“But you’re almost there.”

Kylo wraps an arm around her shoulders. He squeezes her gently, as if in reassurance, and Rey presses her body tightly against his. He pushes the door open and they step outside, greeted by the spring breeze and the rush of a lunchtime crowd. As they continue down the long stretch of the avenue, their silhouettes blur together, two shapes merged into one.

 

And the sunlight clasps the earth 

   And the moonbeams kiss the sea: 

What is all this sweet work worth 

   If thou kiss not me? 

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Love’s Philosophy”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A Collision of Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704957/chapters/13142200), basically my favorite Reylo fic of all time.
> 
> So, we've reached the end.
> 
> _the brightest hour_ is my baby. It's my ode to literature, my love letter to fanfic. It started out with very little planning, and I had no idea it would become the 80k word beast that it is. So yes, I'm proud of myself for finishing the longest fic/novel I have ever written! If it weren't for this fic, then I wouldn't have started writing my own original novel.
> 
> But this wouldn't have been possible without all of you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for joining me on this wild ride. Thank you for all of the kudos, bookmarks, and supportive comments. Thank you for the moodboards, extra fics, and discussions. Thank you for discussing literature and characterization with me in the comments. Thank you for adding me on other social media sites and discord servers. Thank you for inspiring me to finish the rest of this story :)
> 
> Special shout-out of thanks goes to Nancy (your dedication to making multiple moodboards is just so kind and flattering! Thank you so much for reccing my fic on various platforms!), Ruby (I looked forward to reading your comments each chapter; you give me LIFE), Anna (it's always comforting to be approved by a real Literary Intellectual, also your moodboard!Professor Ren is the hottest one so far), Catey (thank you for the constant love and the gif moodboard too!!), Selina (talking literature with you was so fun MARAMING SALAMAT) and to all of my regular commentors. I wish I could add all of your usernames but then the list might be longer than the epilogue lol.
> 
> So basically, I love and cherish you all. I know things are very open-ended, so if you have any further questions, leave a comment and I'll answer. Thank you so much and see you around! ;)


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